Normal Adolescent Behavior
by wintershine
Summary: AU  Welcome to the Palm Woods, a center for adolescent behavior adjustment. What happens when you put a bunch of teenagers into group therapy and try to make them talk about their feelings? Friendships and relationships will be made and tested as seven kids try to navigate life in the midst of overcoming their addictions.
1. Come One, Come All

**Full summary:** _Welcome to the Palm Woods, a center for adolescent behavioral adjustment. What happens when you throw a bunch of teenagers in to group therapy and try to make them talk about their feelings? Friendships and relationships will be made and tested as seven kids navigate life in the midst of trying to overcome their addictions. Will they succeed? Only time will tell. _

**Warnings: explicit language; references to self-harm.**

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><p><em>People are in such agony most of the time. You see human beings outside in the park, or in line at the grocery store, or having their hair done, and unless they are right then weeping or climbing out the window and onto the ledge of a skyscraper, you don't immediately know this about them, how much they are suffering. People know how to put a good face on things most of the time. We're good at that, as a species.- Sandi Kahn Shelton, <span>A Piece of Normal<span>_

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><p>Chapter 1: Come One, Come All<p>

_Come one, come all, y__ou're just in time to witness my first breakdown._

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><p>"I can't believe you're making me do this," he mutters. His father says nothing. His mother says nothing, but he's pretty sure he can hear her sniffling. It's funny how even now, they ignore him.<p>

Snow has just started to fall, and Logan presses his forehead against the backseat window, closing his eyes as his father pulls into a parking space. Maybe when he opens them, he'll have woken up from this nightmare.

The car comes to a complete stop and both of his parents exit the vehicle, but he makes no move to follow them.

Mr. Mitchell impatiently rips open the car door and yanks Logan outside. Logan wrenches his arm out of his father's grasp, hastily tugging on his sleeves and cradling the limb against his body. Mr. Mitchell looks remorseful for a brief second, then places his hand on Logan's shoulder to guide him up the path that leads to a tall, nice-looking building. Potted plants and flowers stand outside the glass doors, which automatically slide open as the family of three approaches.

A blond woman greets them with a gentle smile. "Welcome to the Palm Woods."

Logan stops listening after that. His parents talk to the woman and sign some papers, and his father hands over a duffel bag containing Logan's clothes and a couple of books and his iPod. He watches indignantly as a young man begins searching through his things. As if he would be stupid enough to bring anything with him. He isn't labeled a genius for nothing.

In retrospect, though, Logan _had_ been pretty stupid. If he hadn't ignored that one phone call from his mother, he wouldn't be here right now. Literally. But no. He didn't answer her call or listen to the voicemail she had left him stating that she was already on her way home, so he was completely unprepared for her early arrival. It had ruined everything.

It was funny, in a morbid kind of way. He knew all about the common mistakes people made. They didn't hit the right spot, or go deep enough, or they lost their nerve at the last second. But Logan—he knew exactly what he was doing. He should have been successful. Too bad he hadn't been smart enough to remember to lock the fucking door.

He remembers the look on his mother's face when she walked into his bathroom holding a stack of folded towels. He remembers the scream that escaped her throat when she saw what he'd done. But that's all he remembers because that was when he began feeling lightheaded. That was when things went blurry before finally, blissfully, fading to black. They were supposed to stay that way.

He tugs on his sleeves again absentmindedly, realizing that his mother is hugging him and trying to hide the fact that she wants to cry again. She's saying something that he can't focus on, and his father grips his shoulder in what he probably thinks is a supportive way, but Logan can't really bring himself to accept their comforting gestures. He can't remember the last time his mother hugged him. He can't remember the last time his father looked him in the eye and _really _saw him. He doesn't hug them back, instead shooting them a look that clearly says, _Why are you doing this to me? _

"We'll be back on Sunday, son," his father says.

He watches his parents leave, a mixture of anger and apprehension filling his chest. He can't believe they're making him stay here. It was bad enough that he'd woken up alone in the hospital—that he'd woken up at all, actually—but now they were just going to stick him in some mental institution, or whatever this place was, instead of deal with him themselves? He shouldn't be surprised. Their solution to any of Logan's problems has always been to throw money at him and let him do things on his own. This is pretty much the same thing: spend a ton of money to put him in therapy and hope he comes out alright.

_But it's just a weekend_, Logan tries to tell himself. He can survive the weekend here. Then he'll be back home, and while his parents will certainly keep a closer eye on him, they can't be with him 24/7. He'll be okay if he just bides his time. He won't try again right away—patience is key. Being impatient is another common mistake. Everyone wants it to be quick and painless, but being impatient is usually why they fail.

He wonders if it should scare him that he's thinking this way, because he's not even completely sure he _wants _to try again. Maybe the fact that it didn't work was a sign or something. He has to admit (even if it's only to himself), he was pretty pissed and embarrassed to find that he hadn't accomplished what he set out to do, but now he's had a few days to try to clear his head. There are a lot of conflicting feelings there, and he doesn't yet know which ones are stronger.

_To be, or not to be. That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep-no more-and by a sleep to say we end the heartache. _

Logan chuckles quietly to himself. Leave it to him to recite Hamlet in his head at a time like this.

The blond woman is speaking to him and Logan tries to tune into what she's saying. She's giving him a keychain with a single key on it and handing him back his duffel bag, full of now-wrinkled clothes after that guy searched it. She's also giving him a schedule for the weekend and offering him this kind smile—kind, but pitying. Logan hates it. He hates being pitied. The guy who searched his bag puts a hand on his shoulder blade, leading him down a hallway lit with bright fluorescents. He's shown a door and then the guy just walks away, leaving him alone.

Sighing, Logan picks up the duffel bag and sticks the key into the lock, but he finds that he doesn't need to turn it—the door isn't bolted. He steps slowly into the room and is surprised to see a guy with dark blond hair lying casually on a bed against the wall farthest from the door. He's wearing a beanie and a blue plaid shirt, and he's writing in a journal, and he doesn't look at all surprised that some random dude has just walked into his room.

"Hey," he says, looking up from the journal. He looks familiar for some reason.

"Hi," Logan returns awkwardly. He hadn't realized he'd be having a roommate. "I'm Logan."

"Kendall," says the blond guy with a tilt of his head. "Welcome to the Palm Woods."

"Thanks," Logan mumbles, setting down his bag and looking around the room. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it on the bed, being careful to ensure that his arms remain covered by his long sleeved t-shirt. He thinks the room could almost be a college dorm, except that there are no empty beer cans or crumpled food wrappers littering the floor. It has two beds, two desks, and two chairs. He also thinks it's kind of unnerving, how starkly bare the walls are. They're a hideous off-white shade, and there are no posters or pictures or anything to distract him from the harsh glare. Only a ticking clock.

"So, what are you in for, Logan?"

Logan looks up at the sound of Kendall's voice and resists the urge to pull his sleeve down again. "Excuse me?"

"What are you in for?" He asks again. "Ooh, let me guess." Kendall squints shrewdly at Logan for awhile, and Logan feels himself blushing under the inspection. "You're a cutter," Kendall tries.

"Not quite," Logan replies, smirking in spite of the odd situation. He feels like the last thing they should be doing is joking around, but Kendall's flippancy is strangely comforting. "I don't think you can be called that if you only did it once."

"Just once, eh? So you're a slasher then."

"A slasher?"

"You tried to _commit_," Kendall explains the term. "Slit your wrists." He doesn't seem the least bit fazed.

Logan's both kind of appalled and kind of relieved at the easiness with which Kendall speaks. After days of his parents and the few friends he has walking on eggshells around him, Kendall's boldness is rather refreshing. For the first time in four days, Logan pulls his sleeves up to his elbows and reveals the bandages that cover his wrists and forearms. "Ding ding ding," he says. "We have a winner."

Kendall grins at his success. He doesn't ask why Logan did it, and Logan appreciates that. It was all he'd heard ever since he'd woken up to the beeping of his heart monitor. _Why? How could you? What were you thinking? _Frankly, he was tired of it. He'd pretty much refused to talk about it, so his parents, in desperation, decided that therapy was the best bet. So every weekend he'd be shipped off to the Palm Woods, 'a center specializing in adolescent behavioral adjustment', or some shit like that. He'd read it in the brochure, but he hadn't bothered to make any of the information stick in his head.

"Why are _you_ in here?" Logan asks. He figures he's entitled to know now, since Kendall knows why he's here.

"Alcohol abuse," Kendall replies immediately. No trace of embarrassment. Logan's not sure how to continue the conversation, so he just nods.

Instead, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed and looks down at the schedule he was given. He glances up at the clock on the wall.

"Do you know where Dr. Wilson's office is?" He asks. "I'm supposed to go see him in twenty minutes." It's his first weekend, so he'll be in his one-on-one session while everyone else is in group therapy.

"Third floor," Kendall tells him. "You want me to show you around real quick?"

"Sure," Logan agrees.

Kendall hops off his bed and stretches his arms up before grabbing his own key off the edge of his desk. He locks the door as they exit and the two boys walk back down the hall in the direction of the lobby. Instead of heading straight for the elevator, Kendall walks past the blond lady at the front desk, over to an area where some couches and chairs are set up around a coffee table. Two other boys are sitting across from each other. One of them, the shorter one, has a journal just like the one Kendall was writing in, and at first Logan thinks the boy is doing the same thing. But in the next second, he realizes that he's only doodling. Logan looks up at the other, taller, boy and suppresses a gasp.

It's James Diamond. He's probably one of the richest and most popular guys at school, and he's sitting here in the lobby of a rehab center like it's no big thing. But it is a big thing, Logan thinks. About two weeks ago, James had gotten into a fight during his gym glass with some guy on the opposing team. The guy had tackled James to the ground and punched him in the eye, and James _lost _it. It took two other guys and the coach to pull James off his victim, but he was still shaking with rage and yelling bloody murder. Coach Owens had tried to calm him down, but James punched him, too, before stalking off toward the locker room. He hadn't been in school since then.

"'Sup, guys? This is Logan," Kendall announces. "He's my new roommate." The two boys tilt their heads towards Logan in acknowledgment.

"I'm Carlos," says the shorter boy. Logan notices that even though he's sitting down, Carlos never stops moving. His knee bounces up and down, or his toes tap against the ground, or his fingers fly quickly over the page of his journal. He's never still. Logan wonders whether that has something to do with why he's here or if he just has a lot of energy.

"And I'm—"

"James Diamond," Logan blurts accidentally, cringing at himself inwardly.

James falters for a second. "You know who I am?"

"I go to Oakmont," Logan explains.

"Of course you do," James mutters. "Aren't there any other therapists in this town?"

"Don't worry about him," Kendall tells Logan. "He's just a little pissy 'cause we all recognized him as soon as he walked in the door."

"You did? Wait…does that mean-?"

"Me and Carlos go to Oakmont too. See those girls over there?" He gestures to three females sitting in the corner. He recognizes two of them right away. The pretty, blond one is a cheerleader, and the thin brunette is actually in his English class. "They do too."

"I thought you looked familiar," Logan says softly. "You're on the hockey team, aren't you? And Carlos—you won first place in the art contest last year."

"Was," Kendall says. "Got kicked off last semester."

Things are coming back to him, now that he knows these people are his classmates. Random images flit through his brain: A stocky boy walking down the hallway with James shoves Logan into a row of lockers, causing him to drop his books; he and James laugh as Logan bends to scoop up his stuff, but before they walk off, Logan looks up, and James has this apologetic look on his face, almost likes he wants to stop and help, but then he thinks better of it and follows his friend. Kendall and three other boys from the team get detention for playing hockey in the cafeteria during lunch. Carlos' drawing is put on display in the office, along with a picture of him, and Logan stares at it as he waits to speak with someone about adding more AP classes to his schedule.

Logan wonders how it's possible that they've all ended up here, but neither James nor Carlos seem to be as forthcoming as Kendall had been.

"Anyway," Kendall breaks him out of his thoughts. "Through there is the yard, with a basketball court and a volleyball pit. Down that hallway—" He points to another door, "is the kitchen. We're not allowed in there, but Carlos managed to make friends with one of the ladies, so he can sneak us food sometimes. And through _that _door is the 'leisure room.'" He makes air quotes. "But it's just some crappy fooseball and air hockey and ping pong tables. If you go up the elevator to the third floor and make a right, you'll find Dr. Wilson's office."

"Thanks. Guess I'll catch you guys at dinner."

Logan's heart starts to race as he rides the elevator up. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to face an hour of some guy trying to get into his head, but that may just be because he doesn't want to get into his _own_ head. Recently his head has been a weird place.

He knocks on the door with Dr. Garrett Wilson's name on it, and hears a 'come in' from the inside. Dr. Wilson smiles warmly from behind his desk as Logan approaches. He's a not-quite-middle-aged man with brown hair that's graying at the edges and a few smile lines around his eyes. The room has a couch, two armchairs, and a rocking chair. Logan weighs his seating options, wondering if the furniture he chooses to rest on will be indicative of anything significant. It feels like a test. Then he wonders if he's just being paranoid.

"Have a seat. Hortence Mitchell, right?"

"It's Logan," he says crossly, pulling down his sleeves absentmindedly. He shouldn't have let his mother fill out the paperwork.

"My mistake," says Dr. Wilson easily, making a note of it in his file. He doesn't seem to notice Logan's agitation. "Go ahead and take a seat."

Logan chooses the rocking chair and sits down, trying not to think about what, if anything, that says about him. He's starting to feel even more antsy than before. _It's only one hour,_ he intones mentally, but it doesn't really help to calm him. He doesn't want to talk to Dr. Wilson—why should he tell some stranger all his troubles? He doesn't need a shrink to tell him he's fucked up; he already knows that.

"I'm Dr. Wilson," says the man. "You can call me Dr. Wilson, or Garrett, if you like."

Logan blanches at the thought of addressing an adult—an authority figure—by his first name. "Okay…Dr. Wilson."

Dr. Wilson nods. "You can relax, you know, Logan. I know it seems impossible right now, but there's really nothing for you to be anxious about. We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I'm not even going to ask you how you're feeling."

"You're not?" Logan is confused. Isn't the whole point of seeing a shrink to talk about your feelings? Why the fuck is he here, then? If _he_ doesn't want to talk about his feelings, and the doctor doesn't want to talk about his feelings, can't he just go home? But it _is_ pretty funny to think about how his parents are spending all this money for him to not talk. Serves them right.

"Don't misunderstand," says Dr. Wilson with a friendly smile. "It's not that I don't care. But I don't believe there's anything to be gained by pressuring my patients to spill their life's story during the first appointment."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Instead, I'll tell you a little about myself. I think it's important we both get to know each other, don't you?" The question seems rhetorical, so Logan doesn't respond. He merely shrugs his shoulders a little, and Dr. Wilson continues. "I've been a licensed psychiatrist for thirteen years; I specialize in adolescent behavior; I've been married for sixteen years; I like to cook in my spare time; and my favorite vacation spot is Aspen."

"Aspen?" Logan asks. "You ski?"

"Oh, yes. When my wife and I both have time off. You ever been?"

"No," Logan replies flatly. "We don't really go on family vacations. I mean, we went to Disney World once, but that was like, ten years ago."

"I bet that was fun," Dr. Wilson remarks.

"It was," says Logan.

It's one of his only memories where he and his parents are just spending time together, laughing, sitting down for meals. His parents let him stay up past his bedtime every night for the whole week, they took him on every ride he wanted to go on, even if they thought he might get too scared, and they bought him all the ice cream and cotton candy he asked for. Logan still has a picture on his desk of the three of them in front of Cinderella's castle. He's grinning broadly, missing his two front teeth, and he has one of those giant, rainbow-colored lollipops in his hand. He's even wearing Mickey Mouse ears on top of his head, and Logan thinks that he's probably never taken a picture where he looks as happy as he does in that one.

"So, what do you like to do in your spare time, Logan?"

"Um…study," he mumbles.

"You like school?"

Logan chews on his lip for a moment before answering. "I guess," he says finally. "I study a lot because I want to be a doctor when I grow up."

"That's very ambitious," Dr. Wilson says kindly. "What kind of doctor?"

"I'm not sure yet," he shrugs. "A pediatrician, maybe. Did you always want to be a doctor?"

"Not at all," the man says with a chuckle. "I wanted to be an accountant."

Logan blinks in surprise. "So what happened?"

"My sophomore year of undergrad, I took a beginner's course in psychology as an elective and fell in love with it. Eventually I changed my major, and the rest is, as they say, history."

Dr. Wilson continues to ask Logan random questions, like whether he has a girlfriend, if he plays any sports, what his favorite color is, what type of music he listens to. Logan answers his questions, gradually opening up more, but still feeling wary of the whole conversation. It doesn't _seem _like Dr. Wilson is looking for any particular answers; it's as if he's just genuinely curious… But he's a _psychiatrist. _Isn't it their job to read into all these little things?

Near the end of the hour, Dr. Wilson opens a drawer on his desk and pulls out a journal exactly like the ones he'd seen Kendall and Carlos using. "I do have one formality to discuss with you, even though it's only our first session. I hope that's okay."

"Uh, sure."

"We like to give all our patients these journals to write in. The goal is for you to use it to express any feelings or thoughts—negative or otherwise—you have about yourself or your surroundings. You don't have to do it every day, and there is no length requirement or anything of the sort. In fact, no one will ever even read it but you."

"Really?" Logan asks. "No one?"

"No one," Dr. Wilson assures him. "Unless you hand it to me and clearly state, 'I want you to read this,' only your eyes will ever see the words on the page. On another note, while today's session was fairly informal, I want to prepare you for the inevitability of having to talk about what happened. I know it's going to be difficult, and most likely it will take quite some time before you're ready for that conversation, but I'd like you to know that you should feel safe talking to me about anything. It doesn't necessarily have to be about why you're here."

"It doesn't?" Logan is starting to feel anxious again at the thought of having to discuss what he did. He thinks he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, how everything got so out of control, but as long as he keeps it buried inside, he can keep pretending. That everything's fine, that he's normal, that he has a functional family unit that loves and supports each other.

"Not at all," says the man. "You can always talk to me about whatever you feel like. The weather, your classes, girls, your parents. Anything at all, really. The only things I expect from you are that you actually show up to your one-on-one sessions and your group therapy, that you do actually make an effort to speak with me when you're here, and that you don't hide things from me for fear of how I'll react. I'm pretty much a stranger to you, Logan, so you have nothing to prove to me."

The anxiety pressing on the inside of Logan's chest begins to lessen. Even though he doesn't want to be there, Dr. Wilson's words are still somewhat comforting. "Okay, sir."

"Good. Well, I think that's all for today. I'll just give you your journal, and you go ahead and get to dinner. Have you met any of the other patients yet?"

"My roommate, Kendall," Logan says. "He introduced me to a couple other guys."

"Very good. It's important to get to know your peers here. There's nothing quite like the dynamic of group therapy. See you next week, Logan."

By the time Logan walks into the dining hall, nearly everyone is already seated, and a dull murmur can be heard over the tinkering of plastic forks and spoons hitting the trays. He gets in line behind a red-headed girl to receive his dinner, and is surprised when he is also given a tiny cup containing a single white pill.

"What's this?" He asks, perplexed. No one has said anything about this.

"You're Hortence Mitchell, correct?" The lady questions, looking like she desperately wants to roll her eyes.

"Uh, yeah," Logan decides not to bother correcting her.

"Medication," she replies shortly. "We received your prescription earlier today."

"But I'm not on any medication," he protests.

The lady raises an eyebrow at him before glancing down at his wrists. His sleeves have ridden up a little, and the bandages covering his wounds are peeking out. He quickly pulls his shirt back down into place.

"You are now."

He stares down at the small pill for a moment but the lady is still glaring at him so he decides to get out of her way. He looks around apprehensively, trying to decide if he should just sit alone or try to find Kendall, but luckily he is saved.

"Yo, LOGAN!"

Logan's head snaps up in the direction of the voice, and so do several others. He instantly spots Kendall's beanie and heads toward his roommate, trying not to blush at all the stares he's getting as he makes his way over. Kendall is sitting with Carlos, who is eating enthusiastically, despite how terrible the food looks, and James, who merely looks like some combination of bored and bemused, as if he's trying to figure out exactly how his life has led him to this moment. The three girls Kendall pointed out earlier are also there.

The girls look all look up at him as he approaches, each with a different look. The blonde has a strangely fearful expression, like she thinks Logan might suddenly attack her. The brunette, he can tell, recognizes him from class. The final girl, who has black hair laced with red streaks, simply has an air of indifference at his being brought into the group.

"That's Jo, Camille, and Lucy," Kendall tells Logan as he sets his tray down, gesturing to each of the girls.

Jo doesn't say anything, but Camille and Lucy offer a 'hi' and a 'hey.' Logan notices that while most of the others are halfway or more done with their meals, Camille hasn't touched hers. Her plastic fork lays stuck in what Logan guesses to be canned spinach—he can't be entirely sure—and the other compartments on the tray are undisturbed. The only thing she's consumed is the glass of water she was given. Carlos finishes wolfing down his food and then reaches over and takes Camille's dinner roll without even asking. Lucy does the same with her baked apples, and even Kendall swipes about half of the maybe-spinach.

"How was your one-on-one?" Kendall asks as Logan tries to use his plastic knife to cut into his dry chicken breast.

"Alright, I guess," he replies, giving up on the knife. He stabs the chicken with his fork and lifts the whole thing to his mouth, ripping a bite off with his teeth. "He gave me a journal to write in."

"The doctors here are really into self-expression," Lucy says, rolling her eyes. "They think it'll help us 'release our inner demons' or some shit." James and Carlos both snicker at this.

Logan mostly listens as the group chatters through dinner, observing their interactions. He answers if anyone says something to him directly, but for the most part he's content hanging out on the periphery. He notices that Kendall, Carlos, and Lucy seem to be the most outgoing, while James and Jo are more reserved; in fact, Jo never speaks a single word through the whole dinner period. Camille is somewhere in between; she joins the conversation, but it feels like her attention is elsewhere.

Nurses are starting to walk through the aisles, and Logan realizes that they're checking to make sure the patients take their medication. Camille looks uncomfortable as one stops in front of her—she's cut her whole chicken breast into bite-size pieces, and she puts a single one into her mouth while the nurse watches with an approving smile. Camille chews it slower than Logan thinks is possible, but finally she swallows it and offers the nurse a placating kind of look that says, _See? Everything's fine here. _

The same nurse glances over the rest of the table, and Jo, Lucy, James, Carlos, and Kendall all reach for their medication and swallow it with some water, so Logan does the same. The nurse moves on to the next table. As soon as they're no longer being watched, Carlos sticks his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and pulls the white pill out—he'd hidden it under his tongue rather than take it. He pockets the pill and takes another sip of water before offering the rest of the glass to Camille, who accepts it and gulps the rest of it down.

After dinner, the gang has free time until they have to be in their rooms for the night, so they all end up back in the lobby. Logan watches as Carlos continues to doodle in his journal, and he thinks that when the doctors say "express yourself," they probably don't mean by drawing. Kendall and Lucy are arguing about some band that Kendall likes, Camille is actually writing in her journal, Jo continues to say nothing at all, and James, like Logan, seems fine just observing everything.

The lights flicker on and off a couple of times, and kids immediately start heading down the hallway or towards the elevator. It must be the signal that it's time for curfew. As he and Kendall go back to their room, it strikes Logan how everything seems so ordinary here. It's like everyone's on a weekend trip or something, not admitted into a treatment facility.

Kendall shrugs off his plaid shirt and pulls off the t-shirt he has on underneath. "Gonna shower," he says as he flips the light switch in the bathroom on. The door closes and the water starts, and Logan is left with no distractions for the first time since he stepped foot inside the Palm Woods.

He doesn't know how he's going to survive the weekend.

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><p><em>My name is Logan Mitchell, and I don't want to be here.<em>

_They told me no one was going to read this, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm bothering with it at all. _

_I guess I just can't resist completing an assignment, no matter how pointless it seems. Nerdy little Logan, always does what he's told. Don't argue. Don't ask questions. Just do it. It's just not in my nature to be defiant. I don't like rocking the boat. (Ha. But I guess if that were really case, none of this would even be happening.)_

_Seriously though, I don't even know what to write in this thing. I know I'm supposed to express my feelings or whatever, but I kind of just feel like I'm talking to myself. Isn't that one of the first signs you're losing it? Because I'm not crazy. I know all crazy people say that at one point or other, but it's true. _

_So this is my first night here. It's eerily quiet, and it's really cold in here, and I think the loudest cricket on the face of the plant lives outside our window. I don't know how Kendall can stand it, but he's just snoring away, like all of this is totally normal. And maybe it is, for him. He had no problems admitting why he's here, what he's being treated for. But not me. This is all really weird. _

_What I really want to know is how long I have to keep coming here. Every weekend, yeah, but for how long? Until I'm better, I guess, but who gets to decide that? Until they 'fix' me? They can try all they want, but they won't succeed. _

_I'm not broken._


	2. Weightless

**Thanks so much for the responses to the first chapter! Welcome back to my faithful reviewers labryinth, happygirl, and Q! And hello to my new reviewers as well. Welcome aboard, everyone! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as the first-it's my favorite one so far. Please review!**

**Q: All Time Low remains forever relevant in my fanfiction inspiration, as you can see below, lol. And thank you as always for your wonderful words!**

**And now, onward!**

**Warnings: trigger for eating disorder.**

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><p><em>She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time. -Stephen Chbosky, <span>The Perks of Being a Wallflower<span>_

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><p>Chapter 2: Weightless<p>

_I wanna feel weightless, 'cause that would be enough._

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><p>Monday mornings are the worst.<p>

Monday mornings, she wakes up in her own bed after another weekend at the Palm Woods. Another weekend where she's watched like a hawk to make sure she puts food in her mouth at every meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. She can't escape it.

Monday mornings, she dreads walking into the bathroom and stepping on the scale. She feels heavy and stiff as she approaches the dreaded place, terrified of the number she will see, but she's unwilling to turn back. Turning back is weakness. Turning back is giving up. She opens the door slowly, careful not to make any noise as she enters, breathing a small sigh of relief as she locks it tightly behind her. She'd told her father she wouldn't do this anymore, but she can't help herself. It's an addiction. Luckily for her, he's a trusting man. He didn't even throw the scale out, or move it to the downstairs bathroom.

She steps carefully onto the scale, closing her eyes for a brief moment before peering down at the number.

One hundred and twelve.

_Fuck. _

Tears sting her eyes and she backs away from the offending object. She's gaining weight, like she's supposed to, but she hates it. The number is too high, way too high, and everything is wrong. She turns the sink on and splashes some cool water on her face, trying to calm herself down. Her heart is racing and she feels an overwhelming pressure in her chest that seems to be squeezing her lungs. Her throat is tight and she balls her hands into fists, finding the pressure of her nails digging into her palms comforting.

Nothing like an early-morning panic attack to get your day going.

Camille kneels on the bathroom floor, focusing on the clean white tile as she struggles to regain her breath and sanity. She looks down at the watch she's wearing—her father should be in the shower right about now. She lifts the lid of the toilet and stares down at the water inside. Every nerve in her body is urging her to grab her toothbrush and lean forward, to empty herself and flush it all away.

She reaches up for the toothbrush and grips it tightly, staring at the pink and blue against her pale skin. Seventeen days. It's been seventeen days since she last did it—does she really want to ruin all that progress?

_No_.

Camille slams the lid back down on the toilet, gripping the toothbrush in one hand and a fistful of hair at the base of her scalp in the other before she forces herself to stand. Several deep breaths later, she is unlocking the door and heading back into her room to get ready for school.

By the time she gets downstairs, her father has already finished making breakfast, and Camille's heart drops. She forces herself to remain calm as her dad kisses the top of her head and sets a plate in front of her. Toast, a scrambled egg, two slices of bacon, and a _whole _pancake. She could cry.

She begins cutting into the pancake, not adding any butter or syrup to it. She pushes the egg around on her plate and looks morosely at the bacon and toast. They seem to be mocking her. _You can't get out of this. You're stuck. _When she's sure her father is watching, she picks up the toast and brings it to her mouth, taking a small bite and chewing slowly before swallowing and taking a sip of water. He smiles at her, thinking she is making progress, that she's getting better.

Camille always was a fantastic actress.

She manages to eat the toast and the egg, and three bites of pancake before feeling completely overwhelmed. When Mr. Roberts turns his back, she quickly takes one piece of bacon and few more squares of the cut-up pancake and balls it all up in a napkin, which she shoves into her coat pocket.

"Great breakfast, Dad," she says lightly, finishing her glass of water and carrying her dishes to the sink.

Mr. Roberts looks at her plate happily, glad to see so much of the food gone, and bids her farewell as she heads out the front door. Her breathing is shallow and she's trying to think of _anything_ but the calculations of how many calories she just consumed, but it's no use. Breakfast alone has soaked up half of the calories she allotted herself for the day.

She steps out into the cold air and heads for the bus stop. She's one of the few seniors who still relies on it to get to school. Someone on her street has put their trash can out for collecting, and Camille quickly stuffs the napkin with her food into it, ridding herself of the evidence.

The bus finally arrives and when Camille clambers on, she finds that Lucy, Carlos, and Kendall are already there. Carlos and Lucy are sitting together at the back, a few rows away from Kendall, and they both tilt their heads in silent greeting. Kendall does the same, offering a small smile as well. Camille sits in the first empty seat she sees, even though there's one near Kendall that's open.

It's Monday morning, and they're not friends. She thinks it's because they don't really know _how_ to be friends when they're on the outside. School is different than the Palm Woods. They have their own lives here, and it's too hard and too weird to try to reconcile who they are _here_ with who they are _there_.

School is torturous, as usual, but there are three bright spots to every day. Three things that tell her it's okay to keep pushing forward.

The first is Stephanie. Stephanie King has been her best friend since they were nine years old. They went to the same day camp, they had sleepovers, and they told each other their secrets. Camille was the first person Stephanie called when she got her first kiss, and Stephanie was the only one to this day who knew that Camille was the one who pulled the fire alarm during finals week of freshman year. Stephanie's also the only one who _really _knows how much it hurt Camille when her mom left. She's the one who pointed out to her dad that Camille's eating habits (or lack thereof) were starting to scare her.

The second is drama class. It's weird how normally she hates to be looked at, but she loves, loves, loves, being on stage. There's nothing quite like being able to dive into a new character, to use all your emotions to bring life to a story. It reminds her that things are universal—her character's problems are everyone's problems. Her sadness, her joys, her triumphs on stage; they belong to her, but they also belong to everyone. It's a nice escape from her real life.

Finally, there's him. The shy, smart, brown-haired boy who's probably spoken a dozen words to her at most this year. He sits exactly four rows to her right and three chairs up, at the very front of the class. He wears sweater vests and button-downs to school. He's always the first to raise his hand when Mrs. Williams asks a question to the class. And he's one of the few people who she feels looks _at _her instead of _through _her.

English is the last period of the day. She gets there a little early, and of course Logan's already inside when she arrives to class. They're the only two in the room.

"Hey," he offers her a small smile as she takes her seat.

She shouldn't be speechless, but she is. "H-hi," she replies hesitantly. _It's just a greeting, _she tells herself. _You can manage a simple greeting. _

She feels awkward, though. This is awkward. She's always wanted to talk to him, and now that she has this golden opportunity, all she wants to do is run away. She wishes she hadn't eaten so much at lunch, but Stephanie had been watching her. Now she just feels bloated and disgusting, and Logan's finally talking to her and she thinks that none of this was supposed to happen this way. If she had been able to restrict, she thinks, she would feel calmer right now. She'd be able to think of witty and flirty things to say, instead of staring at him like a freak and not saying anything. This is not how she always imagined their first real conversation would go, but she supposes it's better than nothing.

"How are you?" Logan asks casually, turning his body towards her from his chair.

"Fine," Camille lies automatically. It slips out before she can even think about saying something remotely close to the truth. Because she knows she's not fine. Hell, _he _knows she's not fine, but there's a sympathetic understanding behind his eyes when he looks at her. It's the kind of understanding that can only come from being in the same situation, and Camille is sure that Logan's told the same lie dozens of times, just like she has.

"That's good," Logan says nicely. "Are you ready for this vocab quiz?"

"I think so. Are you?" Success! She's managed to string five whole words together! And even asked her own question. She's grateful that he's keeping up the conversation, despite her complete and utter inability to say anything worth responding to.

"Yeah," Logan says. "I studied a bit last night, after I got home."

Camille looks up in surprise. It's an unspoken rule of the Palm Woods not to talk about being at the Palm Woods. You don't talk about what you do there, you don't talk about who you see there, and you certainly don't talk _to _the people you see there. Kendall, James, Carlos, Jo, Lucy, Camille, and now Logan might be fairly close when they're on the inside, but here, at school, it's as if they don't know each other. They stick to their cliques and pretend like they aren't aware of each other's deepest secrets. Camille and, Carlos, for example, might pass each other in the hallway and make eye contact. They might wave silently or nod at each other, but that's all. As if Carlos doesn't know exactly how many days it's been since Camille last purged a meal. As if Camille doesn't know that Carlos has been selling his medication instead of taking it.

"Um, me too," she says. She's saved from having to come up with anything else to say, because the bell rings and soon people are filling the classroom. Logan smiles at her again before turning around in his seat to face the front of the room, ignoring the looks and whispers he's getting from his classmates. She watches him tug on his sleeves, ensuring once again that his wrists and forearms are completely covered.

Anxiety weighs on her, and it has nothing to do with the quiz in front of her. She matches words like 'remittance,' 'ersatz,' and 'vitriol' to their definitions with ease, all the while replaying in her head the conversation with the boy four rows away. She should have been nicer, should have made more of an effort, but she was too surprised 1.) that he was actually talking to her and 2.) that he made a reference to where they'd spent the weekend.

Camille halfway listens to today's lesson, but mostly she thinks about Logan. Logan who is probably the smartest person in their grade, who has already finished applying to a dozen really great colleges, who will win valedictorian by a landslide. Logan who slashed his wrists over a week ago and ended up in the hospital.

After school, Camille stands at her locker, gathering what she'll need to do homework that night, when she receives a text from her father. He's working late tonight. She shouldn't be happy about this, but she is, because now he won't be home to make sure she eats something. It would be funny, if it wasn't so sad, how clueless her dad really is. He thought putting her therapy would do the trick—and it has, sort of. She _is _gaining weight, finally, but she's not happy about it, like everyone else is. The doctors want her to gain a few more pounds before they release her from treatment, but it already takes all of her self-control and will power just to keep what little food she does eat down.

She wishes she could just be normal.

The bus ride home is quiet, since most kids are still at school—sports practices, choir rehearsals, things like that. She should be at the drama club meeting, but since her weekends are now taken up at the Palm Woods, there's really no way she can be of any help. Carlos and Lucy are on the bus, sitting together again, and they get off at the same stop, even though Carlos usually gets off two stops later. Carlos and Lucy knew each other before the Palm Woods, so it's acceptable for them to be seen together in public. It was the same for James and Jo.

The house is blissfully empty, and Camille hurries up to her room to dump her book bag before making her way to the bathroom again. She removes all her layers of clothes slowly and methodically. First boots, then scarf, then coat, then sweater, then jeans, until she is left in only her t-shirt and underwear. She knows she shouldn't do this again, the number won't have changed since this morning, but she has to check, just to be sure.

She steps onto the scale and waits for the number to appear. Still one hundred and twelve, same as this morning. Breathing a sigh of relief, she steps down and goes back to her room, putting away her clothes and finding a comfortable pair of leggings to put on.

For the rest of the afternoon, Camille works on some homework, catches up on her favorite TV shows, starts filling out some college applications, and tries not to feel happy about the hunger pains that pang her stomach. _When you're hungry, you should eat, _a voice tells her. _It's that simple. _But it's not that simple, not for her. She simply can't make herself do it.

Her father will be suspicious, but it's easy to fool him. She walks down to the kitchen, her least favorite place in the house, and takes out a pot and a bowl. She pours a large can of soup into the pot and turns the heat on low, letting it warm up. When it's done, she digs through a cabinet, trying to find a measuring cup, smiling to herself when she succeeds. She pours herself exactly one half cup of soup, and dumps the rest of it down the drain.

She leaves the pot in the sink, and the empty can on the counter, where her father will be sure to see it when he gets home from work.

* * *

><p>Lunch the next day poses a dilemma. Stephanie has to go to a team meeting for the girls' soccer team, so Camille will be on her own. Normally, she would hang out with the drama club, but they're busy working on the musical, and she doesn't want to intrude on the production. So—should be good and go to the cafeteria, like a normal person, and try to eat a normal lunch? Or should she do what she really wants, and hide in the library until the period is over?<p>

_Decision time, _she thinks as the bell rings. She picks up the bag containing her lunch and heads towards the café. At least if she's alone, no one will be there to scrutinize her while she struggles with the meal. She sits at a corner table and pulls a book out to keep herself occupied, then takes out her lunch: an apple, a granola bar, and a bottle of water. She immediately unscrews the lid from her water bottle and takes a few sips, but she doesn't touch the apple or granola bar yet.

Suddenly a shadow is covering her table and she looks up.

"Hi," says the boy.

"Hi," she says back, confused by his presence.

"Can I sit here?" Logan asks, gesturing to the seat across from her.

"Sure," is all she says back.

He's got a tray of cafeteria food that he sets down carefully before taking his seat. "How are you?" He asks the same thing that he asked her yesterday, and Camille thinks that this time, she won't lie.

She shrugs in response. "Shitty," is her answer today. It's her answer _every_ day.

Logan laughs at this. "I know how you feel. People have been staring at me nonstop. It's driving me crazy. Well, crazier," he amends. His bandages are peeking out from beneath his sleeves, but he doesn't bother to cover them in front of Camille.

"You're not crazy," Camille says with a small smile. "If you're crazy, I don't even want to know what I am."

Logan gives her that same understanding look from the day before and pops a french fry into his mouth. "You're not crazy either," he tells her.

"No, I am," she jokes. "I'm all kinds of fucked up."

"And… how does that… make you _feel_?" Logan grins, asking the question slowly, his voice filled with concern, imitating the leader of their group discussion from the weekend.

Camille snorts at his impersonation of Dr. Jacobs. It's scarily accurate. "Like a fuck-up," she replies.

"Well, we're all a little fucked up," he says, referring to their little group of friends from therapy. "A merry band of misfits." He eats another couple of fries and looks down at the lunch in front of Camille. He must notice that she hasn't touched it, but he doesn't comment on it. She sips on her water some more, letting the coolness run down her throat. She can practically feel it when it hits her stomach.

"Only when we're together," she corrects him. "Here we're just random misfits who happen to go to the same school."

"Why is that?" Logan asks. "Kendall and I shared a room all weekend, and he didn't even make eye contact with me when I passed him in the hall earlier."

"It's the first rule of _Fight Club,_" Camille answers. She continues on when Logan only looks at her confusedly. "Never talk about _Fight Club. _It's just… what we do. We have our own lives here. Like, on what planet would _the _James Diamond ever talk to me, a random girl from the drama club? Why would Jo Taylor ever be friends with Lucy Stone? Only in an alternate universe, right? That's what the Palm Woods is for us. It's our alternate universe."

"So, what? None of us can be friends outside of there?"

"Well, people like Carlos and Lucy already had the same circle of friends, so it's not that much of a stretch for them. They can have the same relationship outside as they do in. Same with James and Jo. They're both already super popular, so it makes sense for them to be friends. Although, I'm not really sure how Jo is friends with anyone, seeing as she doesn't speak anymore."

"And what about you and me? Does it make sense for us to be friends?"

Camille is taken aback. "You _want _to be friends with me?"

"Well, yeah," Logan says it like it's obvious. "Look. It's hard for me to be around my old friends after… you know. After what I did. They look at me different. Like if they say or do the wrong thing, I'll snap and try to off myself again. Same with my parents. I need some friends who don't treat me like… like I'm this fragile thing that needs to be looked after."

"I know what you mean," Camille says softly. "Stephanie tries, but she doesn't really get it. She means well, but I can tell it frustrates her that I can't just go back to being normal. That I can't do the same things we used to do, like have sleepovers and order pizza, or go walk around the mall and hang out at the food court."

"Normal's overrated anyway," he shrugs.

Later that day, after English, Logan walks with her down the hallway, until he has to veer off to get to his own locker, but before he goes, he smiles at her with his cute crooked smirk thing that she's always found so cute. She's just reached her locker and opened it when a voice startles her.

"Was that _Logan?" _Stephanie asks excitedly.

Camille grins. "Yeah."

"And…?"

"And what? We just had class together."

"Please," Stephanie scoffs. "You've had a crush on him since last year. Details! What happened? What did he say? Why are you guys talking all of a sudden?"

"He—we had lunch together today," Camille says, not looking her friend in the eye. No need to tell her that Logan was the only one actually having lunch.

Stephanie isn't fooled. "And did you actually join in on the lunch part?"

"Yes," Camille replies indignantly. _Such a liar, _says a nasty voice in her head. _Some friend you are._

"Right," Stephanie says skeptically. "So if you're so much better now, it won't be a problem if I invite you over for dinner tonight, right?"

"Um…right." _There you go again, lying. _Camille's heart is starting to beat faster and she has to force herself to remain in the moment, to not give in to the anxiety she's starting to feel.

"Good. My mom's making spaghetti. So come over around 6:30. I gotta go, Coach Carson's gonna kill me if I'm late."

Stephanie walks away and Camille feels like she could break down and cry right there in the middle of the hallway. She's a worthless, lying, disgusting person. How can Stephanie stand to be friends with her? She doesn't deserve it. All she does is lie—lie about being okay, about getting better. She's not okay, and she's not getting better. She's gaining weight, and it's killing her.

She slams her locker shut and speed-walks down the hall and into the girls' restroom, which is mercifully empty. She locks herself in a stall and lets the tears roll down her cheeks, sinking down to ground and hugging her knees. Why would she agree to have dinner at Stephanie's house? She won't be able to do it. They're going to watch her every move. _You got yourself into this. Now you have to deal with it._ A sob escapes her throat and she covers her mouth, trying to control herself, even while her shoulders shake with the force of her crying.

She doesn't know how long she's in the bathroom, but it's long enough to have missed her bus ride home. She sighs and pulls her coat on tighter, stepping into the winter air resignedly to make the trek home. She barely makes it off school property when a gray SUV pulls up beside her and rolls the window down.

"Do you want a ride?" It's Logan.

She nods numbly and gets in. "Clear Brook Circle," she says. He knows where it is.

She still feels agitated, but Logan's presence is somehow soothing to her. Maybe because he knows what's really wrong with her. Maybe because she doesn't have to pretend to be okay with him. Maybe because he's just as fucked up as she is.

"You're gonna be okay," he tells her. He doesn't even know what's bothering her, but Camille feels grateful for his reassurance.

She thanks him when he pulls up to her house and he waves goodbye at her, idling in the street until she's all the way up the driveway and to her front porch. Again, she hurries to the bathroom and strips off her clothes to step on the scale. Still one hundred and twelve. She hates how high the number is, but at least it hasn't risen. _Not yet._

She's too worked up to do any of her homework, and as she sits on her bed with her legs crossed, she looks over at her dresser. A small orange container rests there—it's her anti-anxiety medication. She stares at the nearly-full bottle. She's supposed to take one every night, but she doesn't like the way they make her feel. Her mind and body go numb and slow. She doesn't feel anxious, but she doesn't feel anything else, either. Now she only takes them when she's being watched at the Palm Woods, and the rest she gives to Carlos to sell. He cuts her in on the profits, but she doesn't really care about that.

_Carlos won't mind if I take one. _

By the time she rings the doorbell at Stephanie's house, she's plastered a smile onto her face. She sits down for dinner with Stephanie's family, and they politely ask her about school and her dad, and not about her eating disorder, which she knows they are all perfectly aware of. She serves herself a large scoop of pasta and even takes some of the fresh garlic bread, commenting on how great everything looks. Stephanie's watching her closely, but Camille's prepared for this. She eats everything on her plate and flashes her best _I am totally normal, see? _smile.

Afterwards, she makes a big show of claiming that she has to get home to finish working on her college applications, but she thanks Mrs. King for the delicious meal and promises to come back soon, when she's less stressed out about school.

Mr. Roberts is working late again, and Camille is both happy and upset about it. Happy because she won't get caught, and upset because she shouldn't be happy about it. She goes up to her bathroom and locks the door before grabbing her toothbrush and kneeling in front of the toilet.

_Don't do it, _says the voice. _You'll regret it._

I have to, she argues back. I'm disgusting.

_But you've done so well! Stay strong!_

I'm not strong. I'm horrible. I deserve to feel like this.

Camille hates it, but she has to do it. She sticks the toothbrush down her throat until she gags, purging herself of the heavy meal until she's dry heaving on the ground, crying again.

* * *

><p>At lunch the next day, Stephanie's trying to prod her to eat the tuna sandwich that's sitting sealed in a plastic bag on the table, but Camille doesn't want it.<p>

"I'm not fucking hungry," she finally snaps, tired of Stephanie trying to force feed her.

Stephanie freezes. "I'm just trying to help." She looks offended.

"Well, you're not," Camille tells her. "You're making it worse."

"Excuse me?"

"You're making it _worse,_" Camille repeats. "You're not helping! You're making me feel like shit, so just stop." Her voice is louder than she intends, and several people in the surrounding area look up to listen in on the argument.

"Well what do you want me to do? Watch you starve?"

Camille stands quickly, gathering up her things. "I want you to leave me alone!" Even as she's saying it, she knows it's a lie. But she continues on anyway. "I want you stop making me feel like a failure just because I'm not like you!"

"I want you to get better! How is that making it worse?" Her voice has risen as much as Camille's.

"Inviting me over for dinner so that you can make sure I eat? That was torture, Stephanie! I hated it!"

"You didn't hate it while you were busy eating everything on your plate!" Stephanie yells.

"Because I knew I would go home and throw it all up!" Camille shrieks. She freezes and claps her hand over her mouth, wishing she could rewind the moment. A dull murmur washes through the crowd in her vicinity, but she forces herself not to pay attention to their whispers.

"Do you know what it's like watching you do this to yourself? Don't you care?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Camille says sarcastically. "I didn't realize my _eating disorder _was such an inconvenience to you!"

_Stop talking, Camille, stop talking. Take it back. Apologize. You need her. _

She makes you feel crappy. She doesn't understand you. No one does.

_She just wants to help. She wants you to get better. _

That means she wants you to be fat. Bloated. Gross.

"Okay, you know what? You're right." Stephanie is standing now too. "I'm tired of trying to be there for you when all you do is push me away. Good luck with therapy," she says loudly, and the people eavesdropping immediately look at Camille and start whispering again.

Both girls stalk off in different directions.

After school, instead of riding the bus home, she walks to a nearby park and sits on a swing. The park is empty, due to the frigid February air, but she doesn't really notice. She's thinking about how she's just managed to lose her only friend. Why can't she just be normal? Why can't she look in the mirror and see what everyone else does? Why can't she accept help from people who care about her?

_You're alone. Just like you wanted. _

And then, suddenly, she's not alone. A brown-haired boy plops down into the swing next to her, letting his body move back and forth for a bit. But it's not _her _brown-haired boy. It's another one.

"You bring it?" He asks.

Camille dips a hand into her coat pocket, producing the small orange container of pills.

"Sweet." Carlos takes out his wallet and thumbs through the cash, handing her fifty dollars for the whole container.

"Thanks."

"I saw your fight with your friend at lunch. You okay?"

"Not really," Camille shrugs. "She doesn't want to be around a fucked-up weirdo. Can't say I blame her. Are people talking about it?"

"People are always talking," he tells her. "But so what? Fuck 'em. Anyway, thanks for this," he shakes the little bottle of pills. "I gotta get home."

"No problem. See you on Friday."

"Yeah. See you."

* * *

><p><em>How many mistakes can a person make in a single week?<em>

_You know what the worst part is? I know what I'm doing wrong, but I can't stop myself. _

_You're weak. You're a failure. You deserve this. It's relentless inside my head, and the only thing I can do is listen. Therapy isn't helping. My dad isn't helping. My best friend isn't helping. I know they mean well, but they just don't understand what it's like in my mind. _

_How can I tell them that even though I hate it, this is what I want? _

_They say when you hit rock bottom, the only place you can go is up. I thought I had gotten to that point, but everything seems to spiraling farther and farther out of my control. I've never felt like this before, not even when Mom took off. _

_Everyone tells me to stop. They tell me the consequences, but none of it matters. They can't stop what goes through my head every time I look at food. I'm trying to be better, for my dad's sake. Every time I go to the doctor, and I'm a little bit heavier, I want to cry. I want to go somewhere and purge everything away until I feel light again. But my dad is just so happy when I make progress. It kills me to upset him by refusing to eat. _

_And I __**do **__want to get better, I think. It's just that I need to do it on my own time, in my own way. Without everyone judging me for every move I make. I think that's why I snapped at Stephanie today. I know she wants to help, but I need her to understand that it's not a simple matter of wanting to be "normal" and just being it. So I guess until she realizes that… I don't have a best friend anymore. _


	3. Me, You, and My Medication

**Warnings: references to drug abuse; explicit sexual content.**

* * *

><p><em>You've gotta seize life. Do something man, just do something that matters. Squeeze the fuck out of every day. -James Cook, Skins<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Me, You, and My Medication<p>

_Found my way to the highway, I don't wanna tell you the state I'm in.  
>I've had too much to smoke, too much to drink, where have I been?<br>I feel like the stars are getting closer, and the sky is moving in,  
>And I don't know where to begin.<em>

* * *

><p>Most kids like Fridays. Fridays mean no more school, parties, being with friends.<p>

Not for Carlos. For Carlos, Fridays mean lockdown. They mean sitting through seven hours of boring classes followed by meeting his mom and dad at home so he can be patted down and checked for anything "inappropriate" before being driven to the Palm Woods. They walk him inside and everything, just to make sure he actually goes in and doesn't try to skip out. He's done it before, and boy, did he pay for that. He won't make that mistake again.

It's pretty shitty that his parents don't trust him, but then again, he hasn't really given them a reason to do so. He knows as well as they do that if they give him an inch, he'll take a mile.

When he gets home, he goes upstairs to pack a bag for the weekend, tossing in random clothes haphazardly. It takes all of maybe five minutes. He flops down onto his bed, waiting for his dad to get home. He gets off early on Fridays just for this special occasion. Lucky him. Carlos wishes he could just shut the door and lock everyone out of his life, but that's out of the question. Literally, because his parents don't trust him to _have _a door anymore. An old sheet hangs across the empty frame instead—it's all the privacy he's allowed now, until they think he's ready to be trusted again.

What they don't know is that Carlos could care less about a door. As if something like that could really stop him from doing what he wants.

Drug dealing really is easier than they imagine it is. You'd think his dad, being a cop, would know that. But as long as he's careful not to bring anything home with him, he's safe.

He hears a car door slam, and soon enough his mother and father are in his room, checking his bag and drawers for any sign of illicit activity. He watches indifferently as they do so; they won't find anything. He's been careful. Finally they're satisfied that their son is clean, so they lead him downstairs and to the car, telling Javier to be good while they're gone.

Javier doesn't say anything as they leave, refusing to acknowledge his older brother at all, and Carlos knows it's because he blames him for screwing up their family. They used to be really close, when they were younger, but then Carlos started hanging out his new crowd, getting into some trouble, and suddenly they just didn't have much in common anymore. Suddenly their parents were spending all their time trying to discipline Carlos, attempting to control his increasingly reckless behavior, and Javier went largely unnoticed by Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, despite his own good behavior. It's his freshman year and he already has a reputation for being Carlos' younger brother. His teachers are harder on him, and kids at school expect him to be more... tough? Cool? More like Carlos, whatever that entails.

Carlos knows his little brother spends half his life trying to prove how little they have in common—he gets straight A's and he's on the student council. He's proud of Javier, in a weird way. He's glad that even though he's a screw up, at least his brother has his life on track.

Not that Carlos would really change anything about his own life. He's messed up, yeah, but it works for him. He's got friends, a sort-of girlfriend (alright, maybe fuck buddy would be a more appropriate term), he makes good money, and he's even managed to keep a solid C average, so he's good to graduate, come May. He can find a job and move out of the hellhole of his parents' house and finally be free.

Lucy is in the lobby when he gets there, but she doesn't go up to him yet, not while his parents are signing him in. It's okay—he'll be seeing her soon enough. When he gets to his room on the third floor, he sees that James isn't there yet. This will be their fifth weekend sharing the small space, and Carlos thinks if it weren't for the fact that they're from completely different worlds, they could actually be really good friends. James is nicer and funnier than Carlos thought he'd be, given how rich and popular he is, but that doesn't stop them from ignoring each other at school.

There's a knock on his door and Carlos grins as he goes to answer it, knowing who's on the other side. Lucy steps inside and shuts the door behind her, locking it tightly before pushing Carlos down on his bed.

She grabs his hair and kisses him forcefully, instantly taking control of the situation. Carlos lets her, more than happy to sit back and enjoy the ride. Lucy's hands graze over his chest and abdomen before quickly moving down to his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans. He's already starting to get hard, so it's a relief when she reaches under the waistband of his boxers and strokes him a few times. He has just enough presence of mind to reach for his wallet, which is sitting on the desk nearby, and pull out a condom from inside. While he rips it open with his teeth, Lucy pulls her panties down from under her skirt and tosses them to the floor somewhere before straddling him again, not even bothering to undress all the way.

He rolls the condom down in what is probably record time, and Lucy yanks her top off before moving her hands underneath his t-shirt, helping him to rid the garment. She pushes his pants down his legs, letting them gather at his knees, and he doesn't even kick them all the way off. Bracing herself on his chest, Lucy eases herself down, guiding him inside her, and instantly begins moving. She rocks her hips on top of him and he reaches up to palm her breasts over her bra.

"_Fuck, _baby, yeah," he pants when she slams down onto him. He reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra and lets it fall to the floor with their other clothes. Carlos is squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples, sucking on her neck—doing everything he can to send her body into over drive.

It must be working because soon she's moaning quietly, gasping whenever he nips on her skin. Boldly, he grabs her ass and plants a smack that he knows probably stings a little bit. She bites down on her lip and a small whimper escapes.

"Do it again," she groans.

"You like that?" He chuckles.

"Just do it."

He's more than willing to comply, so he brings his hand back and smacks her again, harder this time, and Lucy lets out another whimper of pleasure. Carlos moves his hips up to meet her thrusts, pushing himself in deeper until he knows she's close. He can always tell because her eyes clench shut and her mouth hangs just slightly open, lips forming a cute O-shape. She comes with a final smack to her backside, gasping his name, and he follows shortly after, spilling into the condom and slumping down on the bed.

Lucy kisses him again, softer this time, and then climbs off of him. Carlos tosses the condom into his trashcan and pulls his pants up from around his knees before sitting up. Lucy tosses him his t-shirt and gets re-dressed herself, turning so that Carlos can help her clasp her bra again.

"Thanks," she says, and he puts a soft kiss on her bare shoulder from behind before she pulls her top back on. When she turns around, he lightly traces his fingertips over a scar just below the crook of her elbow. It's one of many that mar her skin; he's seen them on her arms, her thighs, even a couple on her stomach. He's never asked why she does it, and she's never volunteered the information. Maybe if they were a real couple, she'd let him in on it, but that's neither here nor there, since this relationship is purely physical.

She's running her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it, when they hear the doorknob jiggle. They grin to themselves when James walks into the room, looking at them suspiciously. He's walked in on them before, and it was an experience none of them really wanted to repeat.

"You guys are worse than rabbits," he mutters as he throws his bag on the floor by his bed.

"Jealous, Diamond?" Carlos teases. He's seen the way James looks at Lucy.

"Please," James scoffs, and Carlos returns to the present. "I can get laid any time I want. I'm James Diamond."

Lucy smirks at him and Carlos throws a crumpled piece of paper at his head.

"It's almost time for group," Lucy says, looking up at the clock ticking away at the wall. "We better go."

The threesome leaves Carlos and James' room and head towards the elevator. Their group room is on the very top floor of the building. Logan, Camille, and Jo are already up there. Kendall comes in a few minutes later, and Dr. Johnson, their group leader, comes in a minute after that.

Carlos doesn't like Dr. Johnson. He's too… something. It's something he can't quite put his finger on, but he just can't shake his dislike of the guy. Maybe it's the fact that he talks to them like they're children who've just done something bad, like color on the walls or something. Maybe it's the fact that despite that it's his _job _to care about them, Carlos can tell he really couldn't give less of a shit about any of them.

Dr. Johnson always makes them do stupid ice-breaker games, as if the seven teenagers have never met. Carlos has known James for exactly five weeks, and already knows him as well as he knows his own brother. He knows more about Camille than he's ever known about a girl, including Lucy, and he's as close to Kendall as he is to his real best friend. Truth be told, these kids probably _are_ his real best friends, it's just that they never spend time together outside of the Palm Woods.

But today is Logan's first time in group, so things will go a bit differently.

"We have a new addition to our group," Dr. Johnson says unnecessarily. "Why don't you stand up?"

Logan stands uncomfortably, pulling on his sleeves.

"Now, I want you to introduce yourself to us. Full name and nickname if you have one, age, where you're from, and one interesting thing about yourself."

"Okay, um… my full name is Hortence Logan Mitchell, but I go by Logan. I'm 18. I'm from Texas. We moved here when I was seven. And um…" Logan looks as though he's searching his brain for something else to say. "Um… I have a photographic memory?" His voice gets higher at the end of the sentence, as if he's asking if this fact is interesting enough to count as his interesting thing about him.

"Very nice, thank you, Logan," Dr. Johnson doesn't even look up. Logan sits back down.

Next, Dr. Johnson has them do this stupid "personal weather" exercise, where they have to describe their week using weather terms. Lucy, for example, had a good week, so her personal weather was sunny with a high of 80 degrees. Camille's week wasn't very good. Mostly cloudy with chances of thunderstorm. Carlos finds it all unbelievably boring and soon starts tuning out. He lets his mind wander until—

"…Carlos?"

Carlos blinks and looks up. "Sorry, what?"

Dr. Johnson makes a note before repeating the question. "The next icebreaker question is, if you could have an endless supply of any food, what would it be?"

_Easy. _"Corn dogs," he replies instantly.

They go around the circle and everyone else thinks about the question. Camille looks especially terrified, but she's sitting to Carlos' left, so she'll be the last to answer. Lucy answers with pad thai, James says chicken nuggets (but only if they're shaped into dinosaurs), Jo refuses to give a response, Kendall says his mom's secret-recipe snicker doodles, Logan answers French fries, and Camille swallows before mumbling something that no one hears, not even Carlos.

"What was that?" Dr. Johnson asks.

Carlos watches sympathetically as Camille balls her hands and presses her nails into the skin of her palms. They really should be more sensitive about the types of questions they ask during these stupid games. If Dr. Johnson knew anything, he should know that a food question would trigger Camille and make her uncomfortable. Maybe that's his plan. Maybe he's trying tough love. Either way, Carlos thinks he's an asshole.

"Water," Camille says, louder this time. "I'd want water."

Dr. Johnson looks at her disapprovingly, but doesn't comment. He merely makes a note of her response in his file. Carlos thinks Camille probably should have lied and just said ice cream or hamburgers, but the mere thought of having to eat ice cream for the rest of her life would probably send her into a panic attack.

After a half hour of this crap, Dr. Johnson bids them farewell and exits the room. Everyone seems to instantly relax a little.

"What's going on?" Logan doesn't understand.

"Part of the therapy," Lucy says. "They think it's like, progressive or something, to leave us alone and let us talk freely without supervision."

"'Your friends are your best allies,'" Kendall quotes from the Palm Woods brochure. "Basically they think if they let us just talk to each other, we'll learn to open up more and express ourselves better."

"Does that really work?" Logan wonders skeptically.

"Ask Jo," Lucy snorts.

This is Jo's third week in therapy, and the only times she's ever spoken have been when Dr. Johnson made her introduce herself to the group, and the time when they were outside and a girl bumped into her and she said 'ow.' James has told Carlos that Jo talks to him sometimes, so he knows she's at least capable of it, he just doesn't know why she suddenly stopped. From what he remembers, Jo was pretty and popular at school. Now, her old friends have kind of shunned her and she's more of a loner. He wonders what happened that affected her so badly.

Time passes quickly and soon it's dinner time. Carlos is excited to find that they're having pizza tonight, even if it is crappy frozen pizza. He's proud of Camille when she eats five whole bites of it, knowing how much she struggles with it, and he and the gang chatter through dinner. He feels that they're surprisingly normal, for a group of kids thrown into therapy for things like suicide attempt and alcohol addiction and an eating disorder. By the time the nurse comes around to check on their medication, he's finished with his meal (and most of Camille's) and he pops his anti-depressant into his mouth casually. The nurse nods approvingly and moves on, and Carlos, as always, takes the pill out from under his tongue and pockets it.

He knows he'd get in a shitload of trouble if he ever got caught, but that's part of the thrill of it. Besides, he doesn't _need _medication. He's not depressed. His parents think that he acts out and gets into trouble because of some deep psychological issue or something, and he doesn't quite have the heart to tell them that it's mostly just that he's bored. That, and it's just kind of liberating to do whatever he wants despite the fact that his dad's a cop. He does stupid, reckless things just because they're stupid and reckless. They're fun. Nothing ever happens in this boring-ass town, so Carlos gets his kicks wherever he can.

After dinner, the boys decide they want to play basketball, so they check out a ball from the blond lady at the front desk and go outside to the court. He and James are better than Kendall and Logan, so in fairness, Carlos takes Kendall and James pairs up with Logan. It's cold outside and they all have to bundle up to go outside, but it's still better than being cooped up in the lobby or in their rooms all weekend. Basketball's kind of hard to play when you're wearing gloves and multiple layers, so eventually they end up shooting the ball randomly and just messing around outside.

"My nose is gonna fall off if we stay out here any longer," Logan complains, and so they agree to go back inside, where it's warm. It's almost time for room curfew anyway.

Carlos and James go back to their room and James pulls out his iPod and his journal. Carlos takes his out too, but he never knows what to write, so a lot of the time he just ends up doodling. He mostly does comics, often featuring a macho version of himself as a cool superhero that he's never decided on a name for. Sometimes he's saving Lucy from an evil monster and sometimes he's bringing murderers and thieves to justice, but he always wins in the end, and he doesn't even need the help of some lame sidekick. He gets to save the day all by himself, and he's spent enough time in therapy to know that his fantasies probably have something to do with him wanting to assert his independence from his overprotective and overbearing parents.

* * *

><p>After breakfast on Saturday, Carlos has his one-on-one session. Dr. Cartwright is a nice, young-ish woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a lot of optimism. Carlos likes her well enough, but that doesn't mean he's too gung-ho about having to sit and talk about himself with her every week.<p>

"How are you doing today, Carlos?" Dr. Cartwright asks with a friendly smile.

"Alright," Carlos shrugs. It's not even a lie. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine," Dr. Cartwright answers. "My daughter caught a cold this week, so I had to keep her home from school. But she's getting better."

"That's good," Carlos says.

"Now, I hear you got into some trouble at school. Want to tell me what it was about?"

Carlos cringes. What do they do, call the principal and ask for his file? "Um… We were just having some fun," he tries. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Well, not a big deal got you detention every day for three weeks."

He doesn't say anything.

"Tell me what happened."

"Seems like you already know," he mumbles. He's starting to get antsy, bouncing his knee up and down.

"I want to hear it in your own words, Carlos."

"Wayne got a hold of some spray paint," Carlos sighs, beginning the story. "And us and a couple other guys were outside 'cause Andy wanted to smoke but he didn't want to go alone. So Wayne gets the bright idea to tag the wall, since it's just plain white brick and boring. We didn't even write anything bad, it's just random stuff like the school's name and our mascot and class of 2012, stuff like that. It was harmless. Andy was supposed to be looking out but I guess once he started getting high he stopped paying attention. I had my iPod headphones in, and Wayne and the others dropped their spray paint and took off, and by the time I realized what had happened, it was too late."

"Your friends didn't try to warn you?" Dr. Cartwright raised her eyebrows.

"Every man for himself," Carlos replies easily. "It's just how it is."

"But don't you think some true friends should have tried to help you?"

"Umm…" Carlos thinks about it uncomfortably. It _was _pretty shitty that they left him to take the blame. "I mean I guess. But there's no reason _everyone _should get in trouble."

"And you don't mind just taking one for the team?"

"Not really. I've already got so much crap on my record, non-violent and inoffensive graffiti won't make too much of a difference. It was more of a prank than a serious act of vandalism. That's what the principal told me when he gave me detention instead of suspending me."

"Did any of your friends apologize for leaving you behind?"

"It wasn't really their fault," Carlos defends them. "I shouldn't have had my music up so loud in the first place."

"Alright," Dr. Cartwright concedes and makes some notes before going in another direction. "What were you thinking when Wayne gave you the spray paint? What went through your head?"

"Uh…" Carlos tries to remember, wracking his brain for a response. "I dunno. It sounded like fun at the time. We were just goofing off."

"Right, but didn't you stop to think about what the consequences of your actions might be?"

"Sure, I guess," he says.

"And yet you still felt like it would be a good idea?"

"Well… yeah."

"Why?" The doctor asks.

He decides to explain it for real instead of trying to edge around it. "It's like this: whenever I'm about to do something I know might get me in trouble, I think of the worst possible outcome and compare it to the amount of fun I'll get out of what I'm about to do. If the fun outweighs the outcome, then I go for it. If it doesn't… well, sometimes I still go for it, but I try to be more careful about it."

"And why do you think you feel the need to take these risks?"

"I just like having fun."

"Okay." Dr. Cartwright pauses to make some more notes. "Why don't you tell me how you're liking group therapy?"

"It's… fine," Carlos replies slowly. "Um… I like the people in my group."

"Like Ms. Stone?"

"Huh?" Carlos gulps nervously. The residents of the Palm Woods aren't supposed to have _physical _relationships while on the property. Did someone see Lucy sneaking to his room?

"You two seem to have grown very close over the last several weeks," Dr. Cartwright comments. "I just wondered if she had anything to do with your liking group so much."

"Oh," Carlos breathes a sigh of relief. "Er, I guess. She's not, like, my girlfriend or anything. We sort of knew each other from school. Same circles of friends, stuff like that. It was just easier to talk to each other than to strangers."

"Do you still consider the staff and the other members of your group strangers?"

"No," he says without hesitation. "I like everyone in my group. They know me better than anyone. Except maybe you," he adds with a cheeky grin. It's half true. His group _does _know pretty much everything about him. For all that they scoff about 'expressing their feelings' and 'opening up,' it really has worked (not that they'd ever admit it to their doctors). They know things about him he could never tell Wayne or his brother or his parents. And Dr. Cartwright _is _privy to many of his secrets, like when he first started getting into to trouble and why, but she doesn't exactly know the whole story, and he plans to keep it that way.

Dr. Cartwright smiles wryly at his obvious attempt at sucking up and continues asking him questions about his friends, pausing intermittently to make notes in her file.

Carlos knows what she's doing. She's trying to get him to admit that the guys he hangs out with at school aren't good for him, that they're the reason he's landed here. She thinks if she points out that they're bad friends to Carlos, he'll see the error of his ways and dump them, and get back on the straight and narrow. His parents want to believe that it's peer pressure that's gotten him where he is, so they do everything they can to prevent him from seeing his friends. But truthfully, his friends don't really have any bearing on what he does or doesn't do. If it sounds like a good time, he's up for it. If not… he's not.

But he's always up to try something new, consequences be damned.

* * *

><p>Sunday afternoon, when his parents arrive to pick him up, they try to talk to him about his weekend. He remains tight-lipped, as always, though he knows it frustrates them that he won't open up. They won't want to hear what he has to say anyway. They want him to say that he's learning a lot, that he's getting so much out of his time here, that he's happier now, and he just doesn't feel like lying to them. It's too exhausting. He figures if they're going to ruin his life by forcing him into therapy that he doesn't want or need, he doesn't have to also be grateful about it.<p>

Dinner that night is awkward and quiet. Javier refuses to speak to Carlos, preferring to pretend that his older brother doesn't exist, and Carlos refuses to speak to his parents, annoyed at their constant badgering him about his life. When Carlos finishes his meal, he gets up to rinse off his plate and go up to his room, and Javier follows silently, glaring at him before shutting his door with a loud _thud, _as if to rub it in Carlos' face that he at least _has _a door to slam.

He's half-assedly working through a problem set for his math class (copying the answers from the back of the book and working backwards) when he hears voices from downstairs.

"What else can we do? Nothing seems to be working! I say we pull him out. It's a waste of money."

"We're not pulling him out! Putting him in there is the probably the only thing keeping him out of jail! God knows where else he'd be on weekends."

His parents are fighting about him. Again. They've had this same argument at varying levels of volume at least once a week for like half a year now. He can hear them clearly from his room, since there's nothing to block out the sound. His parents' voices start to get louder as they discuss what to do about their wayward son for the thousandth time and Carlos wishes he could block it out, but with no door, there's nothing he can do. He peeks out onto the landing, and Javier is standing there too, listening to their parents fight. He shoots Carlos another glare and Carlos can practically hear him say, _This is your fault. _

It is his fault, he knows that, but he wishes his parents would stop fighting with each other because of him. It wasn't this bad before. They had the occasional argument, all married couples do, right? But now it just feels like it's _all the time. _They fight about money, about Carlos, about Officer Garcia's work schedule, what to have for dinner, everything. It's this constant warzone in the house, between his parents fighting with each other, and them fighting with Carlos, and Carlos fighting with Javier even though he won't fight back, and he wants it all to just stop.

They can't turn him into the model son they want—Javier's got that all covered anyway. He's a screw-up, and he knows it. He doesn't need to be constantly reminded of it, which is what his parents seem to think is the best way to get him to shape up. Maybe he's stubborn, or just selfish, or maybe he's looking for a way to cope with not living up to his parents' hopes for him, but suddenly he feels trapped, suffocated, and he's got to get out of there.

He goes back into his room, scooping up his phone and wallet before going to the window and easing it open. He climbs out carefully, making his way out to the tree that has become his trusted escape route for when he needs to make quiet exits or entrances. It's risky, leaving the house on a Sunday night—his parents could come up to check on him—but right now he doesn't care. He just needs to be out of the house, away from the yelling and the disapproving glares.

He heads to the park that sits on the edge of a small patch of woods, knowing that people would be hanging out in the clearing there. Wayne and Andy are there, along with a bunch of people, some of whom Carlos knows, and some who he doesn't. It doesn't really matter though because all that matters is the escape. He bumps fists with his friends and Andy immediately offers him a joint, which he accepts without hesitation. There's a couple of bottles being passed around the group and eventually people are busting out small bags of pills or white powder and it's not long before everything on his mind starts to fade away.

Then there's a girl pressing against him and her mouth is on his and her hands are in his hair and his are pushing their way under her jacket. She's pulling him away from the prying eyes and the catcalls of the group, behind a large tree that he backs her up against. The winter air is cold but their bodies are on fire and she bites on his neck roughly when he reaches between her legs. Her eyes are heavily-lidded and his head seems a million miles away but that's part of the fun of it all. She tugs on his jeans, working her fingers on the zipper of his fly and pushing the garments down a little. He braces her against the sturdy trunk of the tree and she wraps her legs around him, breathing hard as he pushes into her and he can't tell if her whimpers are caused by pleasure or the pain of being fucked against a tree. Probably a little of both. A moan and a violent ripple courses through the girl's body, and Carlos feels her clenching around him and he slams himself into her a couple more times before releasing his own orgasm with a muffled grunt.

They take a moment to catch their breaths, but now that they're no longer occupied, the freezing air is getting to them. Carlos holds her up while the girl sets her feet back on the ground, smirking at the bruise he left on the side of her neck while he pulls his pants up and buckles his belt. Once the girl's done readjusting her clothes and smoothing out her hair, she starts to walk off without a backwards glance at Carlos.

"Hey," he calls out. She turns and looks at him. "What's your name?"

"Does it matter?" She asks. Carlos shrugs. He supposes it doesn't; it's not like he's never had a random hookup before. Still, he'd like to at least know the name of the girl he just laid in the woods outside the park. "Sasha." She leaves without another word.

* * *

><p><em>How long until graduation? Too many things are going on in my head, going on around me, and I can't do anything to make it all slow down. Other than the usual. I'm supposed to be 'getting clean' or whatever, stop all the pill popping and use other methods to cope with my feelings. That's what they keep telling me in therapy.<em>

_That substances only numb the pain for a little while. That I have to learn to deal with things in a 'more constructive manner'. _

_But I like the numbness. It's better than what I've got, which is parents who want me to be something I'm not, a brother who wishes he was an only child, and a bunch of 'friends' who couldn't care less about me except for when I'm carrying and they need a fix. _

_It's like 4 am and I don't really know why I picked now to write in this stupid thing, but I just got home and I'm still pretty wrecked and my mom will be up here in two and half hours to wake me up for school. All I know is they told me to write it down when I feel like I need to say something and no one's listening. If I did that, all I'd __**ever **__do is write, because no one's ever listening. Everyone's too busy trying to make me be less of a fuck-up. This is who I am, and no one's going to change it._

_So what's the point of this? What am I trying to say? _

_Fuck it__._

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks again to those of you who are reviewingfavorite-ing/and alerting the story! You guys mean the world to me. Please please please review and let me know what you think! Would love to hear comments, questions, criticism, etc. **

**Side note for my new readers- follow me on Tumblr (wintershine . tumblr . com) for sneak peeks and updates about the story! I answer questions and post other BTR related things.  
><strong>


	4. Miss Nothing

**Warnings: sexual abuse, self-harm, drug use.**

* * *

><p>"<em>When you were young, did you ever read The Very Hungry Caterpillar? Oh, it's a classic. It's about this caterpillar, and he basically eats a load of stuff and then he gets in a cocoon and becomes a butterfly… I'd just get inside my duvet and read it over and over. And it made me think that when I came out, I didn't want to be different. I just wanted what was outside to be different." –Chris Miles, Skins<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Miss Nothing<p>

_Misguided, high-minded, I'm missing the train.  
>And I don't know where I've been,<br>And I don't know what I'm into,  
>And I don't know what I've done to me.<em>

* * *

><p>Lucy comes home after midnight on Tuesday night. Her mother's working another double shift, and her asshole of a stepfather is sitting on the couch, guzzling beer and smoking a cigarette. She'd hoped he'd be asleep, or maybe passed out, by now, and she'd be safe for the night, but it appears her prayers are once again not to be answered. She knows she smells like pot, and her vision is blurry due to the little yellow pill she popped, and she doesn't care when he instantly starts screaming at her. Her whole head is foggy and everything's out of focus but she tries her best to concentrate on her stepfather's words.<p>

"Where the fuck have you been?" He snarls when she attempts to walk past him and into her room.

She doesn't bother to respond, continuing on, but as she reaches the door, she feels his hand grasp her wrist as he yanks her around to face him.

"I asked you a question. Where were you?"

"Out," she mutters defiantly, knowing she'll regret her moment of rebellion. She should know better than to talk back, and usually she keeps quiet, but every so often things slip out. Especially when she's high, and recently, getting high is the only thing that makes her life still feel worth living.

"Out," he repeats. "At this time of night. Fucking whore." His face is too close to hers. She can feel his hot breath on her neck and his grip on her arm is uncomfortably tight. He opens the door to her room and pushes her inside, slamming it behind him though no one's home nor will be for hours.

He slaps her across the face and forces her to the bed and she doesn't fight back because she's tried before and it's no use. Instead she retreats to a place far away in the back of her mind, closing her eyes and waiting for it to be over. She feels his hands reaching under her skirt, forcefully pulling down the fishnet tights she has on, along with her underwear. She instinctively tries to clench her thighs shut, but he's obviously stronger than her and pries them apart, touching her roughly with his calloused fingers. With her eyes still squeezed shut and her buzz still going strong, she manages to convince herself that she's not where she is.

She's with Carlos. She's with Carlos and they're in the backseat of Wayne's car while Wayne is off who knows where. It's Carlos' hand teasing between her legs, Carlos' warm body pressing into hers, Carlos' breath and lips on her neck. And so it's Carlos her body responds to.

"You like that, slut? You're getting wet for me." His voice breaks her out of her reverie and ruins the picture in her head, forcing her back to the present. Again she automatically tries to resist him but he slaps her again and she stops struggling.

Tears well in her eyes as his hands move his belt buckle, releasing his erect member, and that's when she squeezes her eyes shut again. But closing her eyes sends her other senses into higher gear. She hears him rip open a condom packet, smells his beer-breath, feels his hands pinning her wrists into place. She stifles a cry when he thrusts into her roughly, doing her best to remain perfectly still as he moves on top of her. She doesn't know how long it goes on—she never knows, because no matter long it is, it feels like several eternities. When he finally finishes and pulls out of her with a grunt, she's trembling all over, wanting to disappear. Wishing the mattress would just swallow her whole.

He sneers at her as he pulls his pants back up. She doesn't move until he's left her room and shut the door behind him, leaving her in solitude again. It takes her a few moments to remind herself how to move, but eventually her body starts to respond to her brain's commands. She sits up and kicks off her tights and underwear, which had been left bunched around her ankles, and begins stripping off the rest of her clothes. She goes into the bathroom attached her to bedroom, grateful that she doesn't have to step foot into the hallway, and turns the shower on. She steps inside and turns the heat on as far as she can stand, thinking that maybe if it's hot enough, the water will wash away the disgusting way she feels.

It doesn't.

She scrubs until her skin feels raw, but nothing helps. She still feels dirty. Repulsive.

She ties her wet hair out of her face, not bothering to brush it out or dry it, and puts on a tank top and some pajama shorts. Back in her room, she pulls open a drawer on her night stand, and her hands are still shaking and she can barely focus on what she's doing, but she just feels so fucking _gross_ that she needs to do something to make it go away.

She finds the small zip-lock bag she's looking for, plucking out a white pill and swallowing it with a swig of vodka from a bottle she keeps under her bed. Shaking her head a little, she continues rifling through the drawer until she finds a small matchbox. She grabs it and the bottle and goes back into bathroom, shutting the door and sitting against it on the floor.

Lucy opens the box and takes another swig from her bottle, staring down at its contents, both hating and loving them simultaneously. She carefully pulls out the small razor blade and holds it gingerly in her fingertips.

She's not supposed to want this.

Another gulp of the harsh alcohol convinces her that this is what she needs to make it all okay. Her grandmother's sad face floats across her eyes and Lucy's eyes well up again. Her grandmother is the one who started noticing her erratic behavior, spending exorbitant amounts of money to put Lucy in therapy at the Palm Woods. She's supposed to be trying to get better, or at least _act _like she's better, for her grandmother's sake.

It's hard though, because as much as her grandmother tries, she'll never know why Lucy is the way she is. Why she _has _to do what she does.

She inspects her arms, trying to decide on a good spot. After yet another gulp of the burning liquid, she presses the blade into the skin near her shoulder, wincing at the sharp pain. With a quick inhale, she drags the blade across her arm, making a cut about two inches long.

_The first time Jack ever touched her, she was eleven years old. He had been married to her mother for six months. She was already in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep, when her door creaked open and he stepped inside. Even back then, her mother often worked night shifts, and Lucy was left in the care of her new stepfather. _

_She watched apprehensively as he approached her. He was drunk, as usual. _

"_How ya doin,' Lucy-Goosey?" _

"_I can't sleep," she mumbled back. _

_He sat next to her on the edge of her bed and even then, it felt weird. She didn't want him there. She tried to scoot away from him, but he told her to relax, that he'd make her feel good, and she'd be able to sleep. She was paralyzed with fear when his hands moved up under her night shirt, running over the skin of her stomach, higher and higher until they reached her barely-budding breasts, tracing her nipples and back down again. She jolted away from him then, but he grabbed her hair and forced her back into place. _

Lucy watches in morbid fascination as the blood drips down her arm. She wipes it away slowly before returning the blade to her arm, just underneath the spot she just sliced open.

"_Now be a good girl, Lucy," Jack said. "I wouldn't want to hurt you." _

_By this time she was crying, pleading with him to stop, but his only response was to shush her gently, as if she were a child acting up in a movie theater. She tried to shove him away, tried screaming, tried everything she could think of._

"_Get off me! Please!" _

_Jack pulled her hair and slapped her face when her nails dug into his cheek. "Shut the fuck up and sit still," he ordered. _

_This time his hand moved down between her legs and she struggled harder to get away from him. _

The second cut feels better than the first. She's feeling lightheaded and she's breathing steadier. The slight rush of adrenaline from the injury has calmed her down, letting her focus her thoughts on it rather than what she just went through.

"_Stop! I'll tell my mom!" She threatened. _

_Jack's hand went to her throat, squeezing the breath from her. "If you fucking tell anyone, you will be sorry. And so will your mother." _

_He left her room finally and Lucy succumbed to the sobs wracking her body. _

The third cut is the best. It's also the deepest. She fuels her attention on the pain in her arm, wiping away blood and putting a bandage over the wound. She rinses the blade and returns it to its home, going back into her bedroom to put the box back into her night stand. The bottle of vodka goes back under her bed, but only after she chokes down a few more mouthfuls of it. She can barely stand to look at her bed, but she yanks the sheets and blanket off the mattress and throws them to the ground, not wanting to sleep on them. Instead she digs a sleeping bag out of her closet and curls up inside it.

She goes through the school the next day in a daze. Her head hurts and her arm is sore, her back and neck are stiff from lying on the floor all night, she's ridiculously tired, and she wants nothing more than to sleep and never wake up. She ignores everyone that day, including Carlos. It's always hard to be around him after nights like the one she just had, and she knows it's because if anyone could get her to crack her shell and talk about what's happening, it's him. She'd rather avoid him than open up that can of worms—he already knows too much anyway, already seen the scars on her body. At lunch, she and some of the guys sneak off campus to smoke a joint and she wonders if it's possible to smoke enough to just float away into the atmosphere. A text from Wayne during last period lets her know there's another party that night, and since it's Jack's night to work late, she agrees to go.

She's already high when she gets there, and she barely recognizes anyone. She puffs on a cigarette and heads over to where people seem to be congregating, thinking it must be where the alcohol is being kept. She's correct in her assumption. Lucy mixes herself a drink and looks around again. Carlos is in a corner dancing closely with some random girl who's grinding her ass into his crotch, and Lucy is vaguely jealous before remembering that Carlos isn't actually her boyfriend. They've never talked about what they are to each other, but ever since they hooked up the first time, it was just sort of understood between them that they weren't going to be a real couple.

Someone taps her shoulder from behind. It's Wayne. He pulls her in for a hug, twirling her around, making her head spin more than it already is. She can't help but giggle at him and he leads her away towards a back room. There a few other people in there, passing around a bottle of whiskey. Lucy takes a gulp from the bottle when it's handed to her, impressing the guys, who love it when girls can hang with the best of them, and then downs the rest of what's in her cup as a chaser.

She and Wayne sit down on a bean-bag chair together and his hand is on the small of her back and hers is resting on his thigh and she thinks for a fleeting second that there's a line here somewhere that they've never crossed before but, fuck it, there's a first time for everything. One of the guys pulls out a small bag of white powder and starts laying out lines on the coffee table. Seeing this, a couple of people leave the room, not down for what's about to happen in here, but Lucy leans forward. The guy grins at her and hands her a small slip of paper that she rolls up tightly.

"Ladies first," he says.

Lucy kneels down close to the surface of the table, bringing the paper to her nose and snorting up the line of cocaine quickly. Sitting back up, she wipes her face with the back of her hand and watches as everyone else has their turn, letting the effects of the drug course through her.

* * *

><p>She wakes up before sunrise and she doesn't know where she is. She's in a bed. It's warm. She's naked. There's a body next to her, and the face is turned away from her. Where is she? The room's spinning but it still somehow seems familiar and it takes her several seconds to force herself to move. She slips out of the bed carefully, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy next to her, who she still hasn't fully recognized, and starts putting on her clothes. She can't find her bra and she really, <em>really <em>doesn't want to leave it here like some kind of gross souvenir from a night she has no recollection of, but then the boy rolls over, revealing his face, and she pauses for a moment to mentally roll her eyes at herself before deciding just to leave the damn thing. She yanks on the rest of her clothes and sneaks out his window, thankful that his room is on the bottom floor.

The thought of actually going to school today seems like torture, but she'll get suspended if she ditches again, so Lucy drags herself home to shower and change. Her mother and stepfather are, mercifully, asleep when she enters the house, and she doubts whether they even realized she was gone.

She gets ready for school through the fog clouding her senses. She feels like shit getting onto the bus, and it's only made worse when Carlos clambers on and moves toward her.

"Hey," he sits down next to her, letting his hand rest on her knee.

"Hey," she says back.

"You look how I feel," Carlos comments. "No offense."

"None taken," she responds dryly. "It's good to know I'm not the only one still feeling totally wrecked."

"You were so fucked up when you left with Wayne. Did he take you home?" Carlos chuckles.

Fuck, he saw her leave? She doesn't even remember leaving with Wayne. "Wh—oh. Yeah."

She's not sure why she lied about it; Carlos wouldn't care if he knew she slept with Wayne. Would he? They're certainly not exclusive, in any sense of the word (Lord knew she'd heard about his little tryst in the woods with some girl in a red shirt), but so far they've at least refrained from fucking each other's best friends. Common courtesy.

During lunch that day, Lucy sits with Carlos and a couple of other people. She hasn't seen Wayne all day and hopes to keep it that way. Andy comes up to the table and plops down beside her.

"Got something for ya," he grins. He begins digging around in his backpack while she and Carlos wait. "Aha! Found it." With a smirk on his face he triumphantly pulls out the bra she left at Wayne's house and tosses it into her lap.

The table erupts into laughter as she blushes furiously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She hisses, quickly balling it up and shoving it out of sight into her own bag.

"Where'd that come from?" Carlos chuckles. "You go on a panty raid this morning?"

"Wayne thought you'd like to have it back," Andy explains, looking Lucy in the eye.

The smile is wiped off Carlos' face as he puts two and two together. He looks at Lucy strangely for a second, but before he can say anything Lucy stands abruptly from the table and hurries out of the cafeteria. From the corner of her eye, she notices that Camille and Logan are sitting together, and she makes brief eye contact with Camille, who looks concerned.

Lucy marches towards the girls' bathroom and shoves the door open forcefully, startling a freshman girl who's washing her hands. Lucy glares at her until the girl, frightened, practically runs out of the room. She goes into a stall and sits down on the lid of the toilet, reaching into her bag and pulling out her small matchbox. It's been a long time since she's done it at school, but today feels like a special occasion.

She makes one small cut on her forearm, inhaling slowly while the blood pools. She's pressing the blade to her skin again when she hears the bathroom door open. She's momentarily stunned when a voice is speaking to her.

"Lucy? Are you in there?"

"Camille? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

Lucy quickly puts away the blade and rips off some toilet paper to wipe her arm and steps out into the main area of the bathroom.

"What are you doing in here?" She asks. She and Camille have never spoken outside of the Palm Woods.

"Just wanted to check on you. You looked upset," Camille glances down at Lucy's arm, which is still bleeding. "Do you have a band-aid?"

"Yeah," Lucy mumbles, fishing one out.

Camille doesn't ask what happened, and Lucy's not sure whether she's grateful for that or not. She sort of wants to talk about it, but she's never had any real girl-friends and isn't really sure how the whole confiding-in-other-people thing is supposed to go. She settles for patting Camille awkwardly on the back when the smaller girl quickly pulls her into a light hug.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Lucy shrugs. "Eventually." She hopes.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period and both girls exit the bathroom and head their separate ways.

* * *

><p>Carlos doesn't sit with her on the bus that afternoon and she wonders what he's heard or what Wayne's told him, that dick. Why would he send Andy on his little delivery mission, anyway? Was he trying to humiliate her, or did he actually think it was funny? He's got a great sense of humor, if that's the case. Jackass.<p>

By Friday afternoon, Carlos still hasn't spoken to her. He doesn't really seem angry with her, which she guesses is at least a small silver lining to the dark cloud of her life, but he doesn't seem all that interested in making up either. Not that he can avoid her for long. The Palm Woods will see to that.

She checks in alone because her mother is at work and her stepfather can't be bothered to make sure she goes. She's only doing it to make her grandmother feel better, otherwise she'd stop showing up completely. The lady at the front desk checks her bag as always, and hands her the key to her room. Her roommate's not there when she walks in, which is good, because even for someone in therapy, this chick is _weird. _They haven't talked much, but from what she's gathered, Lucy thinks she's a stalker or something.

In the lobby, James and Jo are sitting across from each other in some armchairs, and Jo is actually speaking to James, it looks like. Kendall walks up to them and smiles at Jo, who looks like she _wants _to smile back, but can't quite bring herself to do it. She's retreating mentally, Lucy can tell, and she wonders what it is Jo's been through that makes her this way.

She decides to go sit with her friends, but just as she reaches them, Carlos walks in with his parents. His father still has on his police uniform, and is gripping Carlos' shoulder as they walk in, as if to stop him from sprinting away the first chance he gets. He gets his key and glances toward the group, making eye contact with Lucy, and she thinks he might come over to them, but then he turns to go to his room without greeting anyone. This is minorly upsetting, but he'll have to face her sooner or later.

In group, Dr. Johnson decides to have them talk about the best and worst parts of their week. Lucy smiles mirthlessly because there are just so many horrible things that happened this week, how can she possibly pick which one is the _worst_? Similarly… there aren't a lot of options for what the best part would be.

When it's Carlos' turn, he says that the best part of his week was that his brother actually spoke to him (he asked him to pass the salad dressing), and that the worst was "being betrayed by someone I'm close to." Lucy doesn't miss how his eyes flicker to her when he says it.

They continue around the circle—the best part of Camille's week was seeing that she'd lost a pound. The worst part…was seeing that she'd lost a pound.

_Jack didn't touch her again for three months after that first time. Lucy started wondering if it had all just been a nightmare, if she really had fallen asleep that night and dreamed the whole horrible occurrence up. But no, it wasn't a dream, it really did happen, and even if she thought she was dreaming before, she definitely wasn't dreaming anymore. _

_He entered room late at night again, while her mother was, of course, at work, doing her best to support herself and her daughter and new husband. She watched him with fearful eyes as he approached, wanting to scream and run and knowing it wouldn't be any use. _

_When she did whimper or make any noise of protest, or do anything suggesting she might try to get away, he made sure to slap her or pull her hair, or threaten her with her life. Finally he had to pull out the big guns: her mother's life. If she didn't shut up, if she ever dared tell anyone, her mother would pay the price. Did she really want that hanging over head? Of course not. So be good, Lucy-Goosey, be a good girl, and no one has to get hurt._

Everyone's staring at Lucy and she realizes it must be her turn to speak. "The best part of the week…" What was it? Was there anything good about this week at all that she can say? She's sitting beside Camille, who offers her a small smile in solidarity, and suddenly Lucy knows. "The best part of the week was feeling like someone cared about me. At least enough to ask if I was going to be okay."

Dr. Johnson nods. "And the worst?"

Lucy looks directly at Carlos when she answers. "Feeling like I lost someone I _know_ cared about me."

Carlos blinks rapidly a couple of times in surprise, meeting Lucy's gaze. Their silent exchange doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of the group, though it does fly over the head of Dr. Johnson.

When Dr. Johnson leaves the group alone, everyone is uncomfortably staring between Lucy and Carlos.

"Is it always this awkward?" Logan stage-whispers to Kendall.

"No… usually we goof off and play cards or Truth or Dare or something," Kendall says, not taking his eyes off of Carlos, who's bouncing his knee and fidgeting like he can't wait to get out of there.

"Are you really not going to say anything to me?" Lucy finally asks Carlos. She's never been one to beat around the bush.

Carlos merely shrugs in response. "I don't have anything to say."

"Right," she mutters. If he doesn't want to talk, she's not going to beg.

"Maybe we _should_ talk about something constructive," Logan speaks up again. "Isn't that the point of this?"

Lucy fights not to roll her eyes at him. He's a nice guy and all, but too much of a rule-follower for her taste.

"Fine," she says, sitting up in her chair. "Let's talk about something constructive. How many times did you think about killing yourself this week? Honestly." Her question and tone are rude, but she doesn't care. If Logan wants to have a group discussion, then he can start.

Logan looks taken aback and everyone else is glancing back and forth between them, torn between wanting to chastise Lucy for her harshness, and curiosity at what Logan's answer might be.

"Every day," Logan mumbles to the floor, exhaling loudly. "I think about it every day."

"You do?" Camille asks quietly.

He nods. "It's just… ever since I tried it… it's hard to explain."

James leans forward interestedly. "It felt like taking control of something for once," he offers.

Logan nods again. "Have you ever…?"

"No," James shakes his head. "But I—I know how you feel, I think. You just bottle everything up until…until you can't keep it in anymore. You just kind of snap. And maybe you try to… you know. Kill yourself. Or maybe you drink until the one thing that was important to you suddenly seems pointless," he says, looking at Kendall. "Or you press a blade to your arm," this time he glances toward Lucy, and she stiffens up. "Or," he smiles humorlessly, "you beat the ever-living fuck out of someone and get yourself suspended."

"When I finally decided to do it," Logan says, "I felt…not _good_, exactly, but… calm, I guess. Like it was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was doing something for _me._"

"Why did you?"

It comes out as a whisper and everyone is startled into silence. Six pairs of eyes turn towards Jo Taylor, each of them expressing disbelief. She never volunteers words, much less asks questions and invites discussion. She visibly shrinks back into her seat, uncomfortable with the attention she's receiving from everyone.

Logan scratches the back of his neck, searching for something to say. "It was… a moment."

Jo blinks at him and everyone else remains silent. He pushes on.

"I had a moment where I just figured nothing was worth it anymore, nothing was okay, and I didn't feel like anything _would _be okay ever again. And it didn't matter that my parents would come home and find me, that they'd have to tell my friends, that I just scored in the 99th percentile on my SATs, you know? All that mattered was me thinking this was it, it's been a long time coming, and was today the day I would do it? And I just dared myself. Do something, Logan, for once in your life, make a decision."

"So you took the dare," Kendall joins in the conversation.

"Why do you think about it every day?" Lucy wonders. She's surprised at the sound of her own voice; she meant for the question for remain in her head.

Logan meets her eyes and holds the gaze. "I like knowing that the day is mine to choose," he says seriously. "Even if I never… if I never act on it again, I know that the choice is always there. No one can take that away from me."

Lucy can relate to that. The cuts on her arms, the pills she takes—she always stops short doing something she might never recover from. Not because she has grand illusions about how her life will get better, or that her suffering means something, or anything like that...

She's just never taken the dare.

* * *

><p>Carlos continues to ignore Lucy for the remainder of the weekend, and she begins to think this is pretty unfair of him. Sure, it was a mistake to sleep with Wayne, but did it really merit her receiving the silent treatment? Though, in his defense, Lucy isn't sure how'd she feel if Carlos fucked <em>her <em>best friend. But it's not something she has to worry about, since she doesn't have any girl friends, unless you count Camille and Jo, and they certainly aren't the type of girl he usually goes for.

Still, she doesn't apologize for it. He's not her boyfriend, he doesn't own her, and she doesn't owe him any explanations. If he wanted to set ground rules for whatever they were, he should have said so from the beginning.

By Sunday evening, Lucy and James are the last two from their group still at the Palm Woods. James is angrily typing away on his cell phone, which he just retrieved from the front desk, and frowning down at the screen.

"He fucking forgot me," James scowls as Lucy sits down next to him.

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. Asshole. He's on his way. Probably too busy fucking his new wife to remember to pick up his kid… What are you still doing here? Don't you check yourself in and out?"

Lucy shrugs. "I'll wait with you. It's not like I have much to go home to."

Mostly she's dreading going home because she's not sure if her mother will be there or not… and if she's not, well, Lucy would rather not be alone in the house with Jack.

She's not yet wearing her coat, and for once she's not wearing long sleeves, so she knows James can see the pale scars scattered down her arms. She doesn't stop him when he traces a fingertip lightly over a more recent one, and she knows he's wondering why she does it.

But it's a secret she won't tell. Not to her friends, her mother, her therapist.

_It hurt the first time. She was fourteen and had just gotten home from a movie with a few friends. It was a silly comedy and Bryce had held her hand and asked if he could call her the next day. She giddily agreed, forgetting momentarily that she wasn't normal, that she was tainted, dirty, not good enough for a cool guy like Bryce. _

_She'd barely begun undressing and getting ready for bed when he came into the room. Angry. Drunk. Why was she out so late? Who was she with? Just some friends, bullshit. Little whore, I'll show you how whores behave._

_The slap to her face almost knocked her to the ground, but he caught her before she could even hit the floor, dragging her to the bed and forcing her down before unzipping his jeans and forcing himself inside her. He ignored the cry of pain and terror that escaped her throat. She felt like she was being ripped in half, having no time to prepare for the intrusion. It hurt, hurt, hurt so bad, make it stop, please God, make him stop._

_She said no. Over and over again, no, no, no, please don't, please stop, you're hurting me, and years later she could never be sure if the words ever actually came out or if they only existed in her head. _

_When he finally left her alone, she crawled into the shower and put the water on the hottest setting, not even feeling the heat scald her back. She ripped all the sheets off her bed, ignoring the spots of blood, ignoring the stinging pain and soreness between her legs, and fell to the ground, wanting to scream, but not daring to for fear that he might come back. _

_A nearly-complete art project lay undisturbed a few feet away, construction paper and glue and paint and pencils, and…scissors. _

She doesn't realize she's been shaking until James wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her out of her memories. Sometimes they just attack her and she can't do anything but watch them play in her head, like a horror movie she can't turn off.

Her therapist knows a version of the truth, but it's nothing compared to real-life. Her therapist thinks it was an older boyfriend who pressured her into things before she was ready; and in a sick way, that's kind of true. Not that Lucy considers Jack to be her boyfriend—even _she's _not that fucked up—but in the sense that he was supposed to be someone she trusted, yes, it's sort of true. He made her do things she wasn't ready for, things that were supposed to be special and reserved for someone _she _decided to give them to.

Eventually she stopped protesting. Eventually she stopped fighting it. She didn't like getting hit, being held down. She didn't want him threatening her mother. So she learned how to block it out, how to go somewhere else in her head whenever he came to visit her.

James' warm weight comforts her slightly and she allows him to stroke her hair while they sit in companionable silence.

"Why do you do it?" He asks her suddenly. He's looking at her scars again and she can't do anything to distract him.

"Why'd you beat up Ross Donovan and Coach Owens?" She returns.

He frowns. "I was mad," he says after a moment. "It was the only thing I could think to do."

Lucy raises her arm and runs her thumb down her forearm. Three, four, seven, nine scars that she can see, not counting the ones on her upper arm near her shoulder, or the ones on her other arm. Or the ones on her thighs. Or on her stomach.

"It's the only thing I can think to do sometimes, too," she tells him.

* * *

><p><em>This is stupid. I'm not a writer.<em>

_I don't need to express myself. _

_How is this supposed to help me? Writing it down doesn't make it any less true. It doesn't make it hurt less. _

_My stepfather rapes me, I cut myself, I'm on drugs (prescription and otherwise), I sleep with random guys, mostly out of boredom, blah blah_,_ blah. Putting it on paper didn't make anything change. _

_I still feel like shit. Thanks, therapy. You're a real pal. _

_Oh, hey, now I'm talking to a sheet of paper. Awesome. _

_Screw this._

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading everyone! Sorry I kinda blew it on responding to reviews this week, but I promise to pick up the slack! So pretty please keep reviewing and sending me questions on Tumblr. Love you guys. See you next Tuesday!<strong>


	5. Broken Man

**Warnings: Explicit language, physical violence.**

**We're picking up exactly where chapter 4 left off, just a heads up!**

* * *

><p><em>Adolescents are not monsters. They are just people trying to learn how to make it among the adults in the world, who are probably not so sure themselves. -Virginia Satir<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Broken Man<p>

_I need to start to be myself, because I'm sick of everybody else._

* * *

><p>James cringes when his stepmother walks into the lobby. She waves at him enthusiastically when she spots him and James groans and pushes himself up off the couch, bidding Lucy farewell as he goes to meet the young woman. She signs him out and gives him a big hug that he doesn't return, though she doesn't notice this.<p>

She chats incessantly as she drives him home, about the new furniture in the guest bedroom, how the painters have finally finished working on the kitchen, that she signed up for a Pilates class this week. On and on, her endless chatter fills the silence; it's as if she thinks that the sound of her voice will distract James from the fact that his dad couldn't be bothered to come pick up his son.

James stares moodily out the window and tunes Evelyn out, grabbing his bag roughly and slamming the car door when they pull up into the long driveway of Mr. Diamond's home. James' father is nowhere in sight when he goes inside, probably locked in his study to avoid seeing him.

"He had a lot of paperwork to go through," Evelyn tries, and James blatantly rolls his eyes at her, not caring that he's being disrespectful to his stepmother. She hardly even counts as a stepmother, she's only twenty-five years old—she could be his sister. He doesn't see her as a mom and she doesn't treat him like a son, which is probably why he gets away with being so rude to her all the time.

"Right," James mutters and brushes past her to go up to his room.

He's got a history report due the next day that he hasn't even started on, so in an effort to distract himself, he boots up his laptop and starts researching World War II, staying up late into the night to finish the damn thing.

He drives to school the next morning without saying hello or goodbye to his father or Evelyn, but he doubts either of them even notices. He takes a moment to rake his lucky comb through his already flawless hair when he pulls into the senior parking lot, making sure that his appearance is perfect before he steps outside.

People stare at him as he makes his way inside and to his locker, but he's used to this. Girls flutter their eyelashes and smile brightly at him as he passes, and he offers a few of them (the hot ones) his signature James Diamond smirk. Guys glance at him jealously, and a few random nerds cower in his wake, as if they're afraid he might suddenly shut them inside their lockers or dunk their heads in the nearest toilet. He only looks at them bemusedly as he walks to his locker—he's gotten in his fair share of fights, sure, but he's not a _bully. _He's never beat up someone who didn't touch him first. He left the petty shit like that to Jett.

Speak of the devil.

As soon as James opens up his locker, it's slammed shut again, revealing Jett Stetson behind the metal door. Jett has a cocky grin on his face and James just rolls his eyes and opens it up again.

"Douche," he says.

Jett laughs. "What's up, Diamond?"

"Not much," James replies, digging around for his Statistics textbook. He stores his coat and gloves away before shutting the locker and lifting his backpack to his shoulder again.

If anyone asked, James would say Jett was his best friend, and Jett would say the same. They were both equally handsome, rich, and popular, so by process of elimination, they found each other back in middle school and had stuck together ever since.

"You up for a party tonight?" Jett asks, raising his eyebrow at his friend.

"On a Monday night?" James questions.

"There's a hockey game tonight," Jett explains. "It's supposed to be a sure win, and we clinch the division. Celebration at Banks' place. You in or what?"

"Yeah, I guess so," James shrugs. "I'm at my dad's tonight, which means no one'll notice if I'm not there."

"Ahh, yes, how is your dad?" Jett asks. "But more importantly, how is _Evelyn_?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and James shoves him lightly.

"You're gross. That's my stepmom."

"Your insanely _hot_ stepmom. How old is she? Like twenty-five?"

"So what? She's married to my dad, you tool."

"Whatever. She's still a step-MILF."

The bell rings finally and James is glad to have an excuse to walk away from Jett. Not that Jett notices. He merely follows James down the hall, and James sees Logan talking with Camille outside a classroom. She's smiling at him sweetly while he finishes saying something to her, and James cringes when their moment is ruined by Jett accidentally-on-purpose bumping into Logan harshly on his way inside. Logan drops his notebook and Jett makes sure to step on it as he passes, causing Logan to glare at his back, though he doesn't say anything.

Camille regretfully follows Jett inside the room, and Logan looks up and meets James' eyes. He's been glued to the spot for the last several seconds, and he gets this weird déjà vu feeling, knowing that Logan is also remembering a similar situation in which Jett acted like an asshole to him and James did nothing to stop it. History repeats itself, and James walks into his own class without saying anything to Logan.

During first period alone he receives three text messages inviting him to the party at Charlie Banks' house. By lunchtime it seems like the whole school has heard about it, as it's all anyone's talking about. Have you heard about the party? Do you still have your fake ID? I'll see you there, right?

After school, he and Jett go on a booze run, and they're joined by Jett's sort-of girlfriend, Mercedes Griffin, a blond cheerleader (head cheerleader, to be exact) who used to be Jo's best friend until she stopped speaking. The trio walks into the liquor store confidently, and Mercedes even waves at the guy behind the counter, a greasy-looking dude who eyes her appreciatively as she meanders through the store with Jett and James.

When they get up to the check-out, the guy is obviously trying to get a good look down her shirt, and Mercedes leans over the counter with a flirty grin, innocently batting her eyelashes. He's so smitten that he doesn't even ask for anyone's ID, instead ringing them up without hesitation. Mercedes thanks him and winks before they walk out.

"I swear to God that guy is gonna close the store and go jack off," Jett snorts when they're outside. "He was practically drooling when you leaned over."

"Ha. The guys that work there are all sleaze-balls. But they never card if my shirt is low enough," Mercedes laughs. "As if I'd ever _actually _think twice about them. Gross."

James tunes out their conversation, already growing bored of their presence, and he wonders if it's too late to back out of going to this party. Mercedes' voice is grating on his nerves, and Jett's asinine comments are making him want to punch the guy. But he knows it'll look weird if he bails. He's _the _James Diamond, after all. People expect to see him there, and he always keeps up appearances. Still, Jett and Mercedes are _really _annoying, so he declines their offer when they ask if he wants a ride to the hockey game.

Instead, he goes back up to school and heads to the locker room. He's got some clean gym clothes there and decides to go let out some energy in the weight room. His therapist told him it might be a good idea to channel his aggressive energy into physical activity, so he's thinking he'll try it out. It's better than constantly wanting to punch his best friend in the face—that can't be a good sign.

He hopes the weight room will be empty, but no such luck. There's someone working out on the bench press, and it takes James a second to realize that it's Kendall Knight. He wonders why Kendall's in here alone, but then it dawns on him that all his best friends are on the hockey team, and they're already at the arena getting ready for the game that Kendall's not allowed to play in. Kendall doesn't notice him, and James doesn't bother him. Instead he decides to start with a run and goes over to the corner with the treadmills.

He puts in his headphones and turns the music up loud, focusing on the beat and his breathing and his heart rate, and _not _on his annoying so-called friends or on his moron of stepmother or his neglectful father.

He feels better after his workout and thinks that maybe there's something to this physical activity thing. Too bad he didn't try it _before _beating the hell out of Ross Donovan and punching Coach Owens in the face. Thinking back, he doesn't even know how he lost control so badly. He'd thought 'seeing red' was an expression, but when Ross had hit him, it was like something snapped and he was just suddenly blind with rage. He hadn't even realized he hit Coach Owens until Jett managed to calm him down with an uncharacteristically frightened look on his face.

James showers and gets dressed and checks his phone. He's got a text from Jett letting him know where they're sitting, a text from Tina, his ex-girlfriend, asking if he'll be at the party later (he ignores that one), and a text from his mother reminding him that she expects him home directly after school tomorrow, which he rolls his eyes at. _Whatever._

Once he gets to the arena, he quickly locates his friends and goes to sit with them, being careful to keep his distance from Tina. He mostly listens as his friends chat around him, adding in comments every so often so no one notices that he would really rather not be there. He notices Kendall again, sitting alone near the bench, and James guesses it's because if he can't actually play in the game, he might as well get as close to the action as he can.

The game is probably one of the most exciting ones he's ever seen. The players fly over the ice, both teams playing with everything they've got, but in the end, everyone's prediction comes true: Oakmont wins the game, which means they win the division and are guaranteed a spot on the district playoffs. James sees that Kendall is clapping, but he looks rather subdued, given that his team just won. Maybe it's because he wishes _he _were out there on the ice with them, like he should be. Kendall should have been the star of the team this year. He was co-captain at the beginning of the season, but then… something happened. James had heard he started skipping practices, wasn't living up to his potential, and finally, got kicked off the team when he showed up to a game hungover as hell and reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

He's shaken out of his thoughts, literally, when Jett nudges him and tells him that everyone's about to head over to Charlie's house for the party. He drives over there alone, and the whole way there he's thinking about how he doesn't really want to go. He's just…over it. He's over all the typical fake crap that comes along with being popular—he's got to look a certain way, act a certain way, and it's just tiresome. He knows he sounds whiny—_poor you, people like you—_but he can't help it. He gets so edgy and frustrated around everyone these days, and he doesn't know why he suddenly started feeling this way.

When he parks outside Charlie's place, James mentally shakes himself and puts on a face. He's James Diamond, and he's got an image to uphold. And he's sure got to do a better job of it now, since he almost ruined things by getting in that fight with Ross Donovan and punching Coach Owens.

It seems like every upperclassman in the school is at this party, and James even spots Carlos with some of his friends hanging around. Carlos nods at him as he passes him and James returns the gesture as he moves on. In the kitchen, a bunch of his friends have set up camp, playing drinking games and chatting as they celebrate the team's win. Tina tries to engage him in conversation, offering him a drink and sidling up to him, touching his arm and laughing unnecessarily when he speaks. She's doing some heavy flirting and James almost rolls his eyes at her. They broke up over a month ago, and she's just been relentless in trying to get him back, even after hearing about all the girls he's hooked up with since then.

After a few beers and a few shots, she succeeds in getting him to dance with her in the living room, and she presses her body against his, moving to the rhythm of the music blaring through the house. James isn't really paying attention to her though, despite her best efforts to make him notice her. After a few songs he manages to break away from her with the excuse that he needs to go to the bathroom, and he's left with no choice but to go off in that general direction in hopes of getting lost in the crowd. He decides he actually will go to the bathroom and splash some water on his face.

Once he gets to the hallway, however, things change.

Some guy he's never seen before has Lucy Stone pressed up against the wall, and James almost turns around to go back in the other direction, thinking not to interrupt them, but then he sees the look on her face. Her eyes are clenched shut and her lips are pursed, almost as if she's in pain. The random guy just continues kissing her neck and letting his hands roam her body, not noticing that she's not into at all or that she looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

When the guy's hand moves to the zipper of her jeans, her eyes flutter open, and James thinks he's never seen her look so panicked before. Still, she doesn't do or say anything to stop him, so the boy continues on. James contemplates minding his own business and leaving, but he would hate himself if he walked away from the scene after seeing how obviously Lucy didn't want to be there. He coughs loudly and then "accidentally" bumps into the guy, feigning an attempt to move past him and go into the bathroom.

"Sssorry, man," James slurs. "My bad." He puts a sloppy grin on his face and lets his eyelids droop a little to add to the effect.

The guy looks pissed but James is a lot bigger than him, plus he's probably heard about what James did to Ross Donovan, so he lets it go. "Uh… No big."

James looks over at Lucy and acts like he's just noticed her. "Luuuucy!" He gives her a big hug which she returns gratefully. James feels her relax in his arms.

"You know him?" The guy glances warily between Lucy and James.

"We're old friends," James says before she can respond, slinging an arm around the small girl beside him. "You doin' alright, Luce? This guy's not _bothering _you, is he?" He grins as he says it, but he lifts an eyebrow at the other boy, letting him know the question is serious.

The guy takes a step back from James. "We were just… hanging out," he says lamely, looking for Lucy to back him up. She says nothing. "But you know what, you two look like you want to catch up, so I'll see you later, Lucy."

He retreats from the scene in a hurry and James sees her instantly become less tense.

"You okay?" James drops the drunk act and looks at her seriously.

Lucy doesn't meet his eyes, instead fumbling to get her zipper back up. "'M fine," she mumbles. "Thanks for… thank you."

"You're welcome, but that's bull," James says. "You obviously didn't want to be here with him. Why didn't you tell him to stop?"

Lucy mutters something under her breath but James is pretty sure he makes out the words "wouldn't have mattered" and he frowns at her. She's not popular per se, but she does have quite a bit of a _reputation_ around school. Enough for him to have heard some pretty out-there stories from guys who've gotten in her pants and have no problems telling everyone about it.

"It does matter," he tells her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's wrong with saying no."

He means it to be comforting, but she looks offended.

"Don't fucking lecture me about who I do or don't say 'no' to," she says. "Who I happen to screwing is none of your business. And besides, you're not really one to talk. Everyone knows you've gotten with half the cheerleading squad and the girls' field hockey team. _And _the choir girls."

She starts to walk away but he holds onto her wrist to prevent her from going. "I didn't mean it like that! I just mean… you looked _scared, _Luce, but you didn't do anything to stop him. All you had to do was speak up."

Her face softens and he seems to have hit a nerve, but she doesn't say anything else.

"Look… I'm over this party. You want a ride home?" He asks.

"Yeah," she nods.

He slips his hand into hers and leads her back through the party, not caring who sees him with Lucy, the infamous stoner-goth-girl-slash-school-slut. In fact he actually rather enjoys the shocked look on Tina's face as she watches them leave together. What he doesn't notice is how Carlos sees them holding hands and follows them out with his eyes, frowning as they exit the party.

They're pretty much silent all the way to Lucy's house—he doesn't want to bother her, because it looks like she's thinking hard about something. He stops at the base of her driveway and gets out to move around the car to the passenger side, opening the door for her. He even walks her all the way to the porch, and she hesitates before pulling out her keys.

Quickly she stands on her tip-toes and kisses James right on the mouth, murmuring another quiet "thank you" before slipping inside and shutting the door behind her, leaving him standing on the doorstep, surprised at how this night has turned out.

* * *

><p>"So did you bang her or what?"<p>

James looks up from his sandwich and sees Jett setting his bag down, preparing to sit across from James at their usual lunch table. They're the first two to arrive, but soon enough it'll be crowded with their other friends.

"What?"

"Goth-slut. Everyone saw you two leave together, dude. She as good as everyone says?"

James only takes another bit of his sandwich in response, shaking his head at the boy across from him. "I just gave her a ride home," he says calmly. His frustration level is already starting to rise and it's only been about fifteen seconds since Jett arrived. _Cool it, Diamond. Don't blow things out of proportion. _

"I'll bet you did," Jett snickers knowingly and James just rolls his eyes, though he's gripping his sandwich harder than necessary. Bits of lettuce are dripping out the bottom, and he's close to puncturing ten finger-shaped holes in the bread.

"I'm serious," James tells him. "She wasn't having a good time and I was bored anyway so I drove her home."

"What, are you like her friend or something?" Jett questions, confused.

"No—I mean—sort of," James admits. "She's, um… she's in my group. In therapy." He lowers his voice and looks down, not wanting to see the awkward look he knows is on Jett's face.

"Oh, uh, that's…cool," Jett fumbles for something to say.

He knows James spends his weekends at the Palm Woods, but it's not something they've ever talked about in detail. He never asked James what it's like there, and James has never given the information freely, so they ignore the topic completely, as do all of James' other friends. It's pretty common knowledge around school that James' parents stuck him in therapy after the whole gym class fiasco (he couldn't avoid the questions about where he was spending his weekends since his presence is basically mandatory at every major party) but he's done a good job of shunning the questions about what he does and who else is there. This is the first time he's ever mentioned someone else's name.

Jett doesn't really know what else to say and James knows it's because while they've been friends since middle school, their friendship isn't really based on any sort of emotional connection. They just both happened to be rich and good-looking—it was only natural to start hanging out together. Chasing girls and talking about their expensive vacations, but never anything much deeper than that. Later it moved to talking about which girls they were trying to bed and how drunk they got at the latest party, but never about how James' dad filed for divorce or how his mom criticizes him for _everything. _

Jett drops the subject as the table fills with teenagers chattering about the hockey game and the party. Tina sits a few spaces away from James and tries to catch his eye so she has a reason to speak with him, but he refuses to acknowledge her.

"Hey, James, shouldn't you be sitting over there with the loser burn-outs?" She finally asks loudly, knowing he'll have to respond to her.

"What?" James looks up to see the malicious smirk on her face, as well as the amused looks of everyone else at the table who've undoubtedly formed their own versions of what must have happened between James and Lucy last night.

"I just figured you'd be hanging around her, since it seems like you found a new fuck-buddy last night," she comments easily.

A couple of guys glance over at Lucy appreciatively. She's no cheerleader, and she's got some weird-ass hair, but there's still something really _hot _about her that no one can quite put their finger on. It might help that she's got a reputation for being an easy lay.

"Shut the fuck up, Tina," James snaps. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No need to get defensive, Jamie," Tina coos innocently. "I'm sure no one's judging you."

This is what he gets for antagonizing her last night, James thinks to himself. She's trying to punish him for blowing her off. For not wanting to get back together with her. He wants to tell her to shut up, that Lucy is his friend, that he gave her a lift home because some guy was trying to take advantage of her in the hallway. But he can't do that without revealing to everyone, as he just did to Jett, that he's close to Lucy because they're in group together. Everyone knows about him being in therapy, but it's not his place to talk about anyone else that's there. So he keeps his mouth shut and tries to ignore Tina.

"Was it good, at least?" She continues. "She seems like she'd be pretty crazy in bed, am I right?"

James' face and neck are getting hot and he tries to remember what his therapist told him to do when he feels himself getting angry. _Take deep breaths. Count to ten. Don't say anything you might regret. Don't get violent._

He makes it to 'three' before Tina's voice is breaking through again, but she's not addressing James. Instead, she's loudly making of Lucy with Mercedes, talking about everything from her red-streaked hair to her torn fishnet tights to the rumor that got started that she fucked the new substitute teacher in a supply closet last week.

"Tina, just shut up," James says loudly, and several people around them go silent. He stands up quickly, so his chair scrapes harshly against the floor and nearly falls over. "You don't even fucking know her, so quit acting like a jealous bitch." His hands are balled into fists but he keeps his arms clamped firmly to his sides.

The smirk falls off Tina's face instantly and she doesn't have anything to say back. She's the queen bee. No one's ever talked to her like this in this public and she has no clue how to react. She doesn't have to though, because before she can snap back at him, James has already turned away and stalked out of the cafeteria.

His next period is Calculus, which he's close to failing, but he decides to skip it anyway. James heads down the hallway purposefully, knowing where he wants to go, but outside the door of the classroom, he falters for a moment. What if he gets caught?

_Fuck it._

He twists the knob and steps inside the empty music room, shutting the door tightly behind him. He walks over the piano in the corner, which has some sheet music on it for a song he and his classmates have been rehearsing in choir.

If you asked anyone like Jett or Mercedes or Tina why James Diamond was in choir, they would have told you it was because all the cool electives like art and photography were already full by the time James turned in his class requests. After all, that's what he told them.

The truth is he just likes singing. He's always had a thing for music, ever since his mom put him in piano lessons in second grade because she wanted him to be well-rounded or something. And not to brag or anything, but he's actually a pretty good singer. He's got a solo in the upcoming choir concert and everything. It's kind of embarrassing being singled out like that, but he's also kind of flattered. Besides, it's not like any of his friends will be there. He doubts even his parents will go.

For the forty-five minutes when he should be learning derivatives or whatever it is they're studying in math, James plays the piano and sings softly to himself, not hearing the door open or seeing the small blond girl come in. He finishes his song and shuffles the sheet music back into its proper order and looks up to find Jo Taylor standing in the doorway.

"That was good," she says quietly.

"Thanks," James answers embarrassedly. How long has she been standing there? "What are you doing here?"

"I have band practice next period…" She trails off and James can tell she's feeling uncomfortable, though he can't think why. He stands up from the piano bench and approaches her, wondering why she looks like she wants to turn and flee from the scene.

"I think I've got a quiz in Spanish," he says casually, trying to be friendly. He leans against the doorframe and Jo takes an automatic step back, keeping him a little further than arm's length away.

James wants to ask her what's wrong, why she's so timid these days, but he figures this is not the time or place to get into that. Not at school. It's just that she's so different now than she was when he first met her over the summer. She'd shown up at a party with Mercedes—she was the new girl in town, fresh from North Carolina, and she'd just tried out for the cheer squad that afternoon and made varsity. She'd been captain at her old school as a junior, so she'd be a star addition to the team this year.

She was shy back then. Quiet and sweet, but also fun to talk with if you got to know her. The girls all loved and hated her simultaneously—she was so nice and innocent, you couldn't dislike her, but goddamn it, she was so pretty that you had to be jealous of her. Plus she had a cute southern accent that all the guys loved. She never drank or smoked, and she often became embarrassed if the topic of conversation turned too R-rated.

Something happened over winter break. If she was quiet before, she was silent now. Her endearing shyness became downright frightened. She stopped going to parties altogether. Finally, frustrated with the lack of effort she was putting into cheerleading, Mercedes kicked her off the squad, which apparently was the equivalent of kicking her out of their friendship, because she hadn't talked to Jo since then. And Jo hadn't talked to _anyone _since then. Except for James, occasionally.

"Good luck with that," Jo says softly, and James knows it's all he's going to get out of her today.

"Thanks. See you later." Someday she'll open up, James thinks. It's just a matter of time. He's the only one she talks to regularly in therapy, though that might soon be changing if Logan has anything to do with it. He'll make them actually be productive in group, and James isn't sure if he really wants that or not.

* * *

><p>When he gets to his mother's house after school, she's typing away at her computer in her home-office, while simultaneously yelling at someone into her cell phone about some lost inventory lists or something. He moves past the open door and quickly climbs the stairs to start his homework—she won't allow him to watch TV or play video games or even work out until he's finished it, something she's conditioned him into since he was a child.<p>

He has a whole twenty minutes to himself before the ex-Mrs. Diamond is barging into his room without bothering to knock.

"Are you working on your homework?" She demands.

"Yes, Mom," James says sullenly. He holds up a sheet from his Spanish workbook to prove it.

"Good. Now would you like to tell me why I got a call saying you skipped a class today?" She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring down at James, who gulps nervously.

"I, um…" He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up a little, searching for something to say. Certainly not the truth.

Mrs. Diamond automatically reaches her hand out and smoothes James' hair back down into place, and coming from anyone else, it would be seen as a comforting gesture. Instead, James stiffens, watching his mother's stern facial expression as she fixes him; her son represents her and her company, and she can't have him looking anything less than perfect at all times, even in the privacy of their own home.

"Right," she says shortly. "Do _not _let me get another call like that, James David. You need to be responsible for yourself! I can't be running out of meetings to take calls from your school just because you didn't feel like going to class!"

But it was more than that, James wants to tell her. It's not like he just skipped math to go smoke outside. He wasn't trying to be lazy or irresponsible, like she seems to think. He would've done something stupid if he had gone to class. He needed that extra time to settle down, or else who knows what could've happened. He might have snapped in the middle of class by being asked to work out a problem on the board or something.

"Okay," he mumbles. "Sorry, Mom."

He can't stand up to her. Never has been able to, and he doubts he ever will. What she says goes. Always. Without exception. End of discussion.

"What were you doing, anyway? I know you didn't leave campus."

Tell the truth… get yelled at. Tell a lie… get yelled at anyway. Might as well tell the truth.

"I went to the music room," James admits. "I just played piano for awhile and sang my solo."

"You skipped class to practice your choir solo?" His mother sighs frustratedly. "We've talked about this, James!"

"I know, I—it won't happen again," James says earnestly. "I promise."

"See that it doesn't," she says sternly. "Or else we might need to re-evaluate your choice in electives. It seems to be taking your concentration away from what really matters."

She gives him another reproving look before exiting his room. His hands are shaking a little but he forces himself to breathe. He can't quit choir; he needs it. It's his time to focus on something he loves, something he's actually good at, something he cares about. It would sound weird if he tried to explain to anyone, which is why he never has, but he likes it because it's something he has to actually work at. He's always been popular, always been good-looking, always had everything he needed and wanted, thanks to his mom's successful company. He knows he's fortunate for all those things, for having things come easily to him, and he's not one of those spoiled rich kids who think they deserve everything they have. That's why he gets so much satisfaction out of singing. It's something that he can push himself on, and when he succeeds, he can say it's because _he _worked hard for it. Not his parents.

How can he tell her that it's not stealing his concentration from what matters, because it _is _what matters? It's where he's fully _himself, _not what his mother expects him to be, or what his friends expect him to be, or his teachers or therapist or anyone else.

Just him.

* * *

><p>James is running late to his last-period study hall the next day, thanks to the unusually crowded bathroom. He passes Jett in the hallway and just manages a quick nod, trying to get to the library on time. The bell is ringing as he sprints inside, earning him a glare from the librarian, who <em>tsks <em>at him while he signs in and looks around for a seat. Mercedes is filing her nails at a table with a couple of other girls and James immediately keeps scanning.

Kendall Knight is sitting at a table in the corner with a guy from the hockey team, near another table that is nearly empty except for Jo Taylor. Making up his mind, he quietly approaches Jo's table and gestures to the chair across from her, silently asking for permission to join her. Kendall looks surprised when she shrugs and nods, but he quickly turns back around to face his friend.

Now that he's here, he can see that Jo looks upset. He leans toward her.

"You okay?" His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the silent room, and the librarian looks up to shush him harshly.

He looks at Jo and raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know," she says softly.

Ms. Shipley looks up again, trying to find the source of the noise.

Rolling his eyes, James takes out a notebook and rips a sheet of paper out of it.

_What's wrong? _He writes. He makes a show of folding the paper into quarters and sliding it surreptitiously towards her, and he succeeds in making her smile, even if it is a small one.

Jo picks up the pen she was using to take notes from her Physics book and slowly writes out a response to James, pausing every so often, as if she's not sure if she wants to continue or not.

-_It's nothing… someone just gave me a hard time. I'm taking it too seriously. Don't worry about it. _She pushes the note back to James, who reads it quickly and then gives her a disbelieving look.

_Come on. You can tell me. _

_-It doesn't matter. It's not really about that, anyway. _

_Then what is it about?_

Jo looks up and meets James' eyes, and he sees something in her face change. It's subtle, but it's there. She's decided something, and she's steeling herself for the consequence.

_-Can I tell you what happened over winter break? _

James, who's been reading along as she writes, is taken aback, but he nods anyway. He doesn't know what to expect, and he's not sure that the middle of study hall is the proper place to discuss whatever it is that she wants to discuss. But if he lets her down now, he might never get another chance to know what happened. To know why she suddenly became this new girl who wouldn't talk to anyone if she could possibly avoid it

_-The party at Jennifer Green's house. _James remembers it, sort of. Blond Jennifer, as he refers to her, had a New Year's Eve party at her parents' lake house. Everyone was there. It was a great night. But then someone called the cops on the party and they all had to scatter to get away to avoid getting MIPs on their records. A couple of kids got caught trying to run and got taken in.

_-I was the one who called the cops. _James just stares at her. Why would she do that? _I didn't do it just to break up the party, _she writes. _I needed—_she stops. _I was drunk and stupid, and I didn't know what else to do. I needed help._

She silently pleads with him to understand, but he needs more of an explanation. He doesn't get it.

_Why? _He asks. _Why did you need help? Why couldn't you just ask someone? What happened?_

Jo shakes her head and picks up her pen again. James sees her hand shaking while she writes out her next sentence.

_-I was raped. _

James' heart stops and his breath catches in his throat. His hand is clenched tightly around his pen, but he knows he won't write anything back.

"What?" He says it out loud and ignores Ms. Shipley's shushing. "Jo, are you serious? Have you—"

"Mr. Diamond! This is study hall! You can continue conversation after the period has ended or you can continue it in the principal's office!"

"Alright! I got it!" James snaps before instantly biting down on his lip to prevent himself from saying anything else.

"Detention, Mr. Diamond. Two weeks."

James exhales through his nose but he nods curtly at Ms. Shipley, balling his hands into fists underneath the table. His jaw is aching from how tightly he's clamped it shut. Kendall Knight is staring between him and Jo, and James realizes he must have heard what he said. He must have a weird look on his face or something, because Kendall looks concerned, both for him and for Jo, who's pulled her legs up onto her chair so she can hug her knees. She's refusing to look at him, and he can't do anything to get her attention without Ms. Shipley having a conniption.

James notices for the first time how tired she looks. Her eyes have bags under them, and she, unlike any other girl in their class, hasn't bothered to put on any makeup to cover them. She's wearing a hoodie that's too big for her and her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and the nail polish on her fingernails is chipped badly.

They sit there in agonizing silence until the bell rings, signaling the end of the period and thankfully, the day. The room empties out quickly, the students rushing out to get to sports practices and play rehearsal, or just away from school, but James and Jo hang back. Kendall takes his time gathering up his things, looking like he wants to stay and see what's going on with Jo and James, but his friend is waiting impatiently by the doorway and eventually Kendall sighs and leaves with him, glancing back at Jo one last time before slipping through the door.

"Jo." They're walking down the hallway, which is still filled with students talking loudly and retrieving things from their lockers, and Jo keeps glancing around furtively, as if she's afraid anyone who even looks at them will know exactly what's going on between them.

She shakes her head at him frantically, begging him to wait until they're out of earshot of everyone before he confronts her about her revelation. They walk straight out the front doors and all the way to the nearby park before she even looks at him again. He watches her as she climbs up the jungle-gym and sits at the top of the slide, staring into space. James wants her speak, to look at him, anything to let him know she's still there. He climbs up beside her and they both sit cross-legged, looking down at the empty playground as the cold winter air blows around them.

"I had never been drunk before," she says quietly. "But Mercedes promised me it would be okay, that she'd look out for me, but then she disappeared and… I was so scared, James. I didn't know what to do."

"Jo…I…"

It's a lot to grasp for James. He feels strangely guilty even though he was nowhere near Jo that night. Maybe it's because seeing her so _broken _like this makes him think about the girls he's hurt in the past. He's never _raped_ a girl before, but he's had his fair share of drunken hook-ups, or one-nighters where he promised to call the girl and never did. He's never thought about it like this before, but maybe he takes advantage of them, too. Maybe he's just as bad as someone who… someone who would force himself on a girl for fun.

But that's not fun, he thinks. It's sick. It's wrong. Aside from this weird feeling of guilt, there are a lot of other emotions swirling around inside him right now. He's angry—beyond angry—infuriated, that someone would do that to her. He's oddly protective of her, maybe because she's the new girl, the innocent southern belle. Maybe because for some reason, she's picked him to be the one she speaks to. Anyone else might think it's because he has some sort of romantic feelings for her, but that's not it. Jo's like a sister to him, and all he can think of is how he hopes Jo doesn't tell him who did it, because he swears he could kill whoever it is, right then and there, with his bare hands.

His violent thoughts are starting to scare him, and he doesn't realize how tense he's gotten until Jo puts her hand on his shoulder to stop the shivers running down his spine that have nothing to do with the cold.

"Does anyone know?" James finally asks, unable to think of anything else.

"I c-can't," Jo says. "I can't tell."

"You have to," he tries. "What if he—what if he gave you something? What if you're pregnant?"

"He used a condom," Jo says darkly. "Very thoughtful of him." She starts picking at her nails to avoid looking at James.

Off in the distance, James can see a few kids walking towards the playground. As they approach, he realizes it's Carlos with a couple of his stoner-friends. The park is where they meet up to do their drug-deals.

Jo sees them too. Carlos and his friends are laughing loudly at something. They stop when they notice James and Jo sitting at the top of the slide.

"Well, what do we have here? Princess Prude and Pretty-boy Diamond?" Wayne calls up to them with a smirk on his face. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got some business to take care of. So if you could kindly fuck off…"

James swings his legs around pushes himself up, taking three big steps down the yellow slide, marching over to Wayne until he's right up in his face. James pushes him in the chest just hard enough to make him take a step back.

"I'm pretty sure we were here first, Dooley. So maybe you're the one who needs to fuck off."

James has easily got four inches on Wayne, but this doesn't seem to bother the shorter boy, because he's not backing down.

"Piss off, Diamond. Don't you have to get home to Mommy anyway? Got some new makeup products to test out?"

Snap.

James punches Wayne across the jaw, hard enough to knock him to the ground, but it's only a second before he's back up, launching himself at James in a full-on brawl. They're both landing hits left and right—James has a split lip already and Wayne's eye is swelling shut—and they don't know how long it goes on but finally Andy is pulling Wayne away and Carlos shoves James backward, pleading with his eyes for James to chill out. Wayne's struggling against Andy's grip, but he's worn out and Andy's hold is firm.

"Breathe, James." Carlos says it almost imperceptibly, but James hears it, sees the words come out of his roommate's mouth.

_Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out. Four. Five. Six. Breathe in. Seven. Eight. Nine. Breathe out. Ten. _

By this time Jo is cautiously approaching the scene, having descended from her perch at the top of the jungle gym. She pulls James away from Carlos, who goes back towards Wayne and Andy, glancing over his shoulder at the pair as he moves. She looks concerned and, it pains him to see it, frightened. He doesn't want her to be scared of him.

"Please don't tell anyone."

"Jo—"

"Promise me!"

"Okay," he relents. "But you can't keep it inside forever."

"I'm not ready," she says. "Not yet."

* * *

><p>He tries to enter the house quietly, but his efforts are to no avail since his mother is waiting for him in the living room.<p>

"James David, where on earth have you been?"

"Mom! I—"

"What happened to your face?" She screeches.

James cringes. He must look like hell. His mother takes his wrist and drags him to the nearby bathroom, dabbing ointments on his face and cleaning him up, muttering something about not letting the injury scar.

"Do not tell me you've been in _another _fight!"

James looks down ashamedly.

"What are we sending you therapy for? It's supposed to stop you from getting into trouble and lately it seems like you've been worse than ever! What are we going to do with you, James David?"

"I don't know," he mumbles.

"You don't know." His mother sighs, rubbing circles into her temples, looking like she's trying to ward off a migraine. "Just go to your room. I don't want to look at you right now."

James slams the door to his room and throws his backpack down, aiming a hard kick at his dresser, causing a photo-frame and a couple of other trinkets to topple over. This frustrates him further so in a single swipe, he shoves everything on top of it to the floor, not caring about the mess that he'll have to clean up later.

* * *

><p><em>Focus on breathing. Count to ten.<em>

_That's supposed to be what gets me through it when I feel myself getting out of control. Like it's this magic remedy that'll suddenly make me realize I don't have to get violent every time I get mad. As if I do it on purpose. _

_If Carlos hadn't shoved me away I don't know what I would've done to Wayne. He's lucky I didn't break his damn nose back there. It was the look on Carlos' face that got me, though. Not the breathing. I'm sick of people being scared of me. I'm sick of being looked at like I'm a loose cannon. Careful there—he might blow. I don't want to be that guy. Feels like lately there are a lot of things I don't want to be._

_And Jo. If I hadn't lost it in the park, she might have told me more. She might have let me help her. Instead I just scared her off and now she might never open up to anyone again, and I am not equipped to be the one to get her through it. I have my own shit to deal with._

_Wow, Diamond. You are one selfish bastard, aren't you?_

_Yeah. I guess I am._

* * *

><p><strong>Whew. Made it through this one. Sorry it's up later than usual, but it's still Tuesday so count it!<strong>

**Thank you as always to my lovely reviewers and hello to my new Alerts and Favorites! Please please let me know what you think—what you like, what you don't like, what you think will happen! Anything's welcome! And don't forget to check out wintershine(dot)tumblr(dot)com for sneak peeks posted every Sunday and other random updates throughout the week while I write! **

**Love you all!**


	6. Don't Speak

"_When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You'd be surprised at how many adults are really dead inside—walking through their days with no idea who they are… It's the saddest thing I know." –Laurie Halse Anderson, __Speak_

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: (Don't) Speak<p>

_Our memories, well, they can be inviting. But some are altogether mighty frightening._

* * *

><p>She thinks about telling people sometimes. That he's not who everyone thinks he is.<p>

So why doesn't she? It shouldn't be this hard.

Just speak.

But she doesn't. She tried to get over it at first, thought maybe if she ignored it, she'd stop feeling so terrible, that she could just move on. It can't hurt forever, right? It took awhile for her to even admit to herself what happened. That it wasn't just your typical, run-of-the-mill high school hookup at a party. It was more than that. Much more, and she doesn't quite know how to deal with all her feelings.

It's not that she had sex with him and he didn't call her back, or that he smirks at her as if they had a fling that he still thinks was just a fun time. It's not even that now he's dating her supposed best friend. Well, ex-best friend.

It's that she said no. She didn't want things to go that far, and when she tried to tell him to slow down, to stop, he didn't listen. He told to her relax, that it was okay, acted like he couldn't hear her protestations until finally she stopped giving them. She gave in and waited for it to be over, and then he kissed her like he thought he was being romantic, leaving her drunk and scared and half-naked in the dark bedroom, tears leaking down her cheeks while she struggled to grasp what had just happened.

Now it's lunchtime and she would rather hide out somewhere than face the cafeteria crowds of people staring at her because she's a freak, the girl who doesn't talk, the girl who could be queen bee in a heartbeat if she wanted to—why doesn't she want to? She must be weirder than we originally thought, because no one normal would blow off a chance to be adored by everyone.

Jo decides to go to the music room rather than face another mealtime sitting by herself in the corner, pretending not to hear the whispers of people passing by. Pretending not to notice _them_ sitting cozied up together like the perfect it-couple, which they actually are, since Tina has been unsuccessful in her attempts to win James back.

She thinks she'll spend lunch period in peace, practicing her flute or something, but it seems she's not the only one who's had the idea to use this place as an escape, because when she opens the door, she once again walks in on a boy who's singing and playing an instrument. This time, however, it isn't James practicing his solo. It's Kendall Knight strumming away on a guitar, and unlike James, he notices right away that she's there.

"Hi," he smiles at her. He stops playing and puts the guitar down, picking up his bottle of Gatorade and taking a sip.

"Hi." It comes out as a whisper, but at least it comes out.

He looks surprised that she answered at all, and she can't really blame him. She hasn't spoken to anyone but James in so long, it's a wonder her voice even works at all.

"Um, are you just gonna stand there?" Kendall asks.

She knows he's wondering why she won't come any closer, and she has to force herself to put one foot in front of the other until she's sitting across from him with her arms crossed over her chest. _It's just Kendall_, she reminds herself. _He won't hurt you. He's your friend._

But being alone with him is uncomfortable—being alone with any male is uncomfortable. Bad things happen when you're alone. Things get out of control and no one's there to help.

"What are you doing in here?" She questions softly.

"Hockey team has an away-game," Kendall says through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. He swallows thickly before continuing. "They left early. I'm still not allowed to go."

He has a kind of sad, wistful expression on his face, and Jo can tell he misses the sport. More importantly, maybe, is that he misses his friends. Kendall Knight is a jock through and through, and without the team bonding them together, he's sort of drifted away from his old friends, who are consumed with preparing for the district playoffs. They, like he used to, eat-sleep-and-breathe hockey, and they don't have time to hang around their ex-co-captain who got himself kicked off the team for drinking.

Jo doesn't say anything for a few moments, and Kendall knows her well enough by now not to try to force her into small talk, so they just continue eating their lunches, with Kendall strumming on the guitar every so often. She knows she should say something—she knows he _wants_ her to say something—but what would she even talk about?

"You miss it, don't you?" She decides to ask him something that will make him talk about himself. Maybe that way they can ease into conversation.

"Yeah," Kendall says sadly. "I totally blew it. Senior year, co-captain—I should have college scouts meeting with me at every game. But I'm done. There's no way I'll get a chance now. Without a scholarship, there's no way my mom can afford to send me to a big school that'll get me into the majors."

"So what's your plan for next year, then?" She wonders. "What happens to a jock when you take away his sport?" She's teasing him lightly as she gets more comfortable with him, and she hopes he's not offended by it.

He doesn't seem to be.

"Who knows?" He shrugs. "Probably take some classes at the community college. I've been focused on playing hockey for so long, I never really thought about what I'd do if it didn't pan out. What about you?"

"I don't know either," she answers honestly. "I was filling out university applications last semester, but I've been…distracted lately. And my grades are pretty shit right now," she adds, looking down.

They fall back into silence after a bit, and usually when this happens she feels the unspoken pressure on her to just be normal and carry on a conversation. She doesn't feel this pressure with Kendall. He accepts who she is easily and without question.

A few minutes before the bell rings, Jo stands up as if to leave. "I need to get my stuff for next period," she explains.

Kendall stands with her and they both exit the room together. Kendall closes the door behind them and looks up to see that James and Jett Stetson are walking down the hallway together. James is smirking at something Jett's saying. Jo has frozen in her tracks.

"Hey, Knight. Jo," Jett greets them as he and James come to a stop in front of the pair. "How's it going?"

"Alright," Kendall replies nonchalantly, though Jo can tell that he's sort of stiffened up at Jett's arrival. He must not be a big fan. At least they have that in common.

Jo says nothing. She wants to turn and run away, her skin is crawling, and she thinks her heart may have stopped beating. He stands there with his Jett Stetson smile, the one that says he knows he's a winner, not seeming to notice in the least how badly his presence is affecting her. She stays completely still, eyes locked on the ground, listening as Jett laments Kendall's absence from the hockey team these days—the guys really need him, he was easily the best player on the team. Finally she can't stand it anymore and she backs away from the three boys, slowly at first, then breaking into a run as she rounds the corner. She doesn't check to see if they're following her, and she doesn't stop at her locker like she intended to.

She bursts into her classroom for next period, which is thankfully empty, and takes her seat, resting her head in her hands and breathing deeply. She ignores everything as the room starts to fill, and she doesn't take a single note or even hear anything her teacher says for the whole period.

By the time she makes it to study hall, she's finally calmed down a little. She signs in with Ms. Shipley and looks around for somewhere to sit. James and Kendall are nowhere in sight, though she saw both their names on the list already. She goes to set her bag down at a table in the corner, but then freezes. The table is right in front of a large bookshelf, and she can hear voices coming from behind it. Voices she recognizes.

"…Must still be really hung up on Jett." This voice belongs to Kendall.

"What do you mean?" James. Jo can see the pensive frown on his face in her mind's eye as he takes in what Kendall's said.

Jo's heart starts racing. _No, no, no. Just drop it. Please drop it. _

"Come on," Kendall scoffs. "The way she took off from the hallway after lunch. She's not over him."

"Wait," James starts, confused. "When were they like, a thing?"

_He's going to figure it out._

"Jennifer Green's party. Over winter break."

There's a loud thud. One of them must have dropped a book. She guesses it was James, given that he now has all the pieces to the puzzle and will be able to put two and two together.

"How do you—what do you mean?" James sounds like he's working very hard to keep his voice low. Jo should confront them, tell them to stop talking, to mind their own business, but she's frozen in place, unable to do anything but listen to how their conversation will play out.

Kendall laughs a little and exhales. "I had a… I was going to ask, er, talk to her that night, but I, uh, saw her making out with Jett in a corner, and then, you know, they left to be alone I guess. And well, I'm guessing he blew her off afterward and hurt her feelings, since he got with Mercedes like, a week after that. And _then _Mercedes kicked her out of cheerleading."

"Holy _shit,_" James says loudly. A couple of people nearby look up, having heard the swear.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up, but—whoa, hey. Are you okay?"

Jo can hear footsteps and she's pretty sure James is about to emerge from behind the bookcase. She grabs her backpack and looks up, preparing to flee, and sure enough, there he is, staring at her. He starts to walk toward her and no, no, no, she's not ready for this conversation, he wasn't supposed to find out who it was, no one's supposed to find that out, because even if she told, who would believe her?

She heads straight back through the library and towards the door, past Ms. Shipley, who's just opened her mouth to protest when James' voice rings through the room.

"Is it true?"

Jo pauses but she doesn't turn around. Every student in the room has looked up at James because of his outburst, but now that they've realized who he's addressing, they turn to stare at Jo, undoubtedly forming theories about what James could be talking about.

"Jo—"

"Mr. Diamond," Ms. Shipley starts. "If you insist on being disruptive—"

"Detention, fine!" James yells, startling the librarian into shocked silence. He refocuses his attention on Jo. "Is it true? Was it him?"

Jo still doesn't turn to face him. She closes her eyes for a second, trying to control the tears that want to fall. She won't let them. Instead she takes a deep breath and marches out of the room, ignoring Ms. Shipley calling out that she'll be put in detention, too.

She's only halfway to the nearest girls' restroom when James and Kendall both burst through the library door, following her down the hall.

"Jo!" James calls out again.

Both boys easily catch up to her in a few long strides.

"Don't, James. Stay out of it!" She pushes open the door to the bathroom and goes inside, turning on a sink and splashing some cool water on her face, happy to be away from the boys' questioning looks.

She's unprepared for what happens next.

James shoves the door open too, surprising her into taking a step back, but he and Kendall both step into the girls' room, at least having the grace to look awkward about it. Luckily no one's in there except for the three of them.

"This is so much nicer than the boys' room," Kendall comments, looking around at the pink tile and lack of graffiti on the stalls.

"I know, right?" James agrees before catching sight of Jo and remembering why they're there.

"Get out of here," Jo commands. "Leave me alone!"

"It is true, isn't it?" James asks softly.

"Okay, what's true? What's going on?" Kendall tries to understand what James is implying, but his brain doesn't seem to want to put the pieces together. He's looking between James and Jo, waiting for an answer that Jo doesn't want to give.

But James just continues to look at her—he won't tell Kendall for her, because it's not his place to do so. She has to say it herself.

Jo closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "What you were talking about in study hall—Jett and me at Jennifer's party."

Kendall's face reddens as he realizes that she overheard them talking about her. "S-sorry," he stutters. "It's none of my business."

"We didn't just hook up," she continues as if she hasn't heard him. "I asked him to slow down but he wouldn't stop. He just kept pressuring me and going farther and farther even though I didn't want to."

"Wait—are you saying he… Jo, did he rape you?" Kendall cringes slightly even saying the word 'rape.' His face is a combination of sickened and sympathetic and even kind of scared.

Jo nods and Kendall takes a step forward, but stops when she immediately backs up toward the wall. She's still getting used to being in the same room as guys—physical contact is still a no.

"Fuck. I'm gonna kill him."

James grabs a fistful of hair before spinning around and yanking the bathroom door open, where a sophomore girl is standing, having just been about to enter. She squeaks and jumps out of the way as he barrels through the doorway, growling "move" at her as he passes. She stares wide-eyed between him and Kendall, who's still standing in front of Jo, until he snaps out of it and runs after James with Jo right behind him.

"James," Kendall hisses, not wanting to cause a disturbance in the hallway while classes are still going on. "Where are you going? Slow down!"

James merely picks up his pace, shrugging Kendall off when he tries to stop him. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"James, stop!" Jo yells, and the panic in her voice is enough to get him to turn and face her. "Don't do anything. You can't!"

"Jo, he can't get just get away with his! He's gonna pay for what he did to you."

"What he did? What about what I did?"

"You didn't do anything, Jo," Kendall tries to tell her. "This isn't your fault."

"Oh, so I didn't dress like a slut, or get drunk and throw myself at him? I flirted with him in front of the whole party, Kendall! You said yourself you saw us in the hall. I was even the one who said we should find somewhere more private!"

"Jo, if you told him to stop—"

"It doesn't matter, Kendall!"

"It does matter!" James breaks in angrily. "You have to tell someone! You need to get help or something!"

"That's not your decision!" Jo replies, fighting to keep her voice even. Their discussion has gotten loud and she doesn't want a teacher to poke their head and catch the three of them shouting in the hallway. She doesn't need any more detention on top of everything else. Besides, James alone has enough detention for all three of them by now.

James kicks a locker in frustration, the loud _bang _echoing in the empty hall. "You have to deal with this, Jo!"

"Last time I checked, it was _my _body," Jo bites back. "That makes it my business, and I'll deal with it however I want!"

"Yeah, because you were doing such a great job of that before," he scoffs. "Not speaking is a fantastic way of handling it."

Jo blinks and bites her lip, stung by James' harshness. Again she feels the tension behind her eyes signaling the arrival of a wave of tears and this time she's unsuccessful at holding them back. She turns her back on James and Kendall and begins walking away, though she knows they'll just follow and easily catch up to her. Kendall reaches her first and puts a hand on her shoulder to get her slow down, but she flinches away from his touch and he retracts his arm quickly.

"James just wants to help," Kendall says softly. "So do I."

"You can't." Jo's voice breaks and she pauses to wipe a tear away. "I have to see him every _day, _Kendall. I have to see him here every day, walking around like he owns the place, which he practically does, hanging out with _my _old friends without a care in the world. And as if that weren't bad enough, he's in my worst nightmares too."

Suddenly the bell rings, startling all three teens. Soon, the hallway is filling with students talking about what parties they're going to this weekend and the upcoming hockey playoffs and a dozen other things that James, Kendall, and Jo could not care less about in this moment.

* * *

><p>Jo and her father ride to the Palm Woods in silence. He seems stressed, Jo thinks, but she can't tell if it's his usual I'm-dropping-my-daughter-off-at-therapy stressed, or something more. She would ask him, but lately she doesn't seem to know how to talk to her dad. Ever since he and her mother separated, things had been difficult, and had not been made easier when she decided to move back to North Carolina.<p>

It's some combination of guilt and shame that keeps her from telling her dad what's happened to her. How can she tell him that she had been drinking, wearing provocative clothing (even if it was borrowed from Mercedes), and coming on to Jett the night of the party? Hell, she wasn't even supposed to be at the party at all; she'd lied (another thing she never did) and told Mr. Taylor that Mercedes was having a sleepover with all the senior girls from the cheer squad. She put herself in a position to be taken advantage of. She got what she asked for.

The one time she considered telling him, she'd been outside his home office, and he was talking to her mother on the phone about not knowing what he was going to do with her. He was saying how he thought Jo's new friends were being a bad influence on her, and that maybe he should consider putting her in private school. She couldn't admit to him that he was exactly right—that she allowed herself to be peer pressured and now look what had happened.

Jo looks around the ground floor as her dad signs her in. Logan and Kendall are playing checkers in their gang's usual corner, while James is absentmindedly fiddling with a plastic comb. The others are either out of sight somewhere or haven't arrived yet. When Mr. Taylor leaves, Jo goes up to her room to put her things down, and she knows everyone will be expecting her join them before they all go in for group therapy, and she's not ready to face them.

Now that James and Kendall know her secret, she knows she can't ignore it anymore. It's not that they'll tell anyone that she's afraid of; it's that now she's going to be forced to confront her fears. Telling James was supposed to be a baby step. Kendall wasn't supposed to find out, and they certainly weren't supposed to figure out who her attacker was. Things are happening too fast and she can feel herself wanting to revert into the defense mechanism she'd developed recently—ignoring all of it and not telling anyone how she's feeling. She supposes it's too much to hope for that James and Kendall will just let it go and leave her alone…

Today's activity is trust-falling, which everyone thinks is super lame, but no one really protests. Camille looks like she'd rather not do it, and Jo wonders whether it's because she's afraid of falling or because she thinks she's too heavy for anyone to catch. Lucy goes first, under Dr. Johnson's instruction, and she climbs up onto a high table that was brought in just for this, with her back to the rest of the group. Dr. Johnson has her close her eyes, placing his hand on her back between her shoulder blades. He tells her to lean into his hand and trust that her group will catch her when he lets go.

Lucy is fearless. Jo admires that. She closes her eyes immediately and takes a deep breath before slowly leaning back. Dr. Johnson lets go, and Lucy lets herself fall, not even gasping or opening her eyes as she does so. As far as trust falls go, Jo thinks it was the most graceful one she's ever seen—and as a four-year varsity cheerleader, she's seen a lot of falls. Lucy opens her eyes only when she's been fully caught, grinning up at everyone. The boys all set her down easily—Jo and Camille barely had to shoulder any weight—and Lucy smoothes out her skirt and her pulls her hair into a ponytail.

Next is Carlos, who's similarly unafraid. He practically does a backwards dive off the table and into everyone's arms, letting out a 'whoop!' as he goes. They laugh at his recklessness, and the boys all get into a short, light shoving match before Dr. Johnson succeeds in getting them back in order. Kendall and Logan go without much incident, though Logan panics at the last the second and throws his arms out to try to keep his balance. He's obviously unsuccessful and attempts (and fails) to hide the girlish squeak that emits from his throat as he falls.

James seems dubious that he should trust his group to catch him—he's easily the tallest and the heaviest of any of them, and the three girls are all quite small and thin. Still, he takes his turn like the others, rolling his neck back and forth as if stretching for some strenuous exercise. He tips backward of the table, letting his breath out in a small _whoosh _as Kendall and Carlos bear the brunt of his weight. The group sets him down and he seems pleasantly surprised that he wasn't dropped.

Then there's Camille. Logan gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and promises softly that she'll be okay. She holds onto his hand while she gets up on the table, but she seems unwilling to turn her back to them and step up to the edge. Jo can see the anxiety on her face—it's the same self-conscious look she gets during dinner time, and she knows for sure now that Camille's eating disorder is dictating her thoughts right now, telling her that she's too heavy, that the group won't be able to catch her. Logan doesn't let go of her hand until she's at the edge and Dr. Johnson's steadying her. She gasps and keeps her eyes clenched shut as she falls, sure that she's going to hit the floor. But she's the smallest and thinnest out of everyone, and she's the only one who can't see that. She only opens her eyes when Logan touches her shoulder, telling her she's alright.

Finally it's Jo's turn, and while she knows in theory she has nothing to worry about, she's still a bit wary. It's not that she thinks they'll let her fall—but diving into a pile of people, most of whom are boys who are all bigger and stronger than her… that doesn't seem appealing. An image flashes through her mind. She's lying on a bed, and _he _is there, slowly but surely trying to sneak his hand underneath her skirt. She pushes his hand away and tries to sit up, but all he does is push her back down and straddle her, using his knees to pin her down.

"Jo? Are you ready?" Dr. Johnson prods her and she shakes her head a bit to clear away her thoughts.

Kendall helps her up and she reminds herself again that no one here is going to hurt her. They're not Jett. She turns her back and closes her eyes, pretending she's at cheer practice. This is no different than learning a new stunt. In fact, it's even easier, because she's only half as high as she would be normally, and she doesn't even have to execute a kick or a flip in the air. This is a piece of cake.

She lets out her breath, smiling to herself when she realizes it's already over and she's standing upright.

Dr. Johnson makes them sit in their circle and talk about what they were feeling—whether they were nervous or confident about their fall—and after the exercise is over, he leaves them alone so that they can have their half-hour of unsupervised discussion.

They all sit quietly for a few moments but then Logan clears his throat to break the silence. "Does, um… does anyone want to talk about anything?"

Jo avoids the gazes of James and Kendall. She can feel both pairs of eyes boring into her, willing her to speak up. Her own eyes are fixated on the floor and she curls up into a ball on her chair, hoping that making herself smaller will magically cause her to become invisible and everyone else can talk without her.

"Yeah, I do."

Jo's head snaps up at the sound of James' voice. He's looking right at her and her eyes widen. _He wouldn't._

"I have this friend—" he starts.

"James," Jo tries to interrupt and everyone's attention shifts to her. He ignores her and continues talking.

"I have this friend who has a problem," James says. "And this friend doesn't want to get help from anyone. She refuses, _literally_, to talk about it. The thing is, I know what's wrong with her, but she wants me to leave her alone. So how am I supposed to help her?"

_This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Shut up, James. Mind your own business. I never should have told you what happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

"Jo?" Logan asks softly. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing," she whispers automatically.

"It's not nothing!" James says loudly.

"Calm down, man," Kendall tells him. "Let her do it."

"You can tell us," Logan's steady voice speaks again and Jo looks at him finally. "Whatever it is…no one's gonna judge you or anything. We—we're all in the same boat here, in case you forgot."

She can't say it.

Can she?

Rape. _Rape. _

It's a gross word. Disgusting. It makes her cringe just thinking it, even abstractly, and it only gets worse when she has to apply it to herself—when she has to acknowledge that it's not just something terrible and life-altering and awful and horrific. It _is _all of those things... She can think of a hundred more adjectives, none of which really even come close to actually describing the terror that she still tries bury within her, weeks and weeks after it happened.

Because the thing is, it's more than just a list of adjectives. It's something that happened to her.

"I—"

_Say it, _she commands herself.

"I was…"

_Spit it out, Jo Marie. _

The silence in the room is deafening as everyone waits for her to say whatever it is she's going to say. Not even Carlos is fidgeting like he always does, and Lucy, who usually looks bored to tears during these sessions, is actually paying attention, frowning at her slightly. It's not a mean frown, just a pensive one.

Jo looks up at Logan and focuses on his eyes. It's just her and Logan with his calming presence, his sympathetic attitude, and his kind face that makes her believe that maybe it'll be okay if she trusts him.

"I was raped."

There's a collective intake of breath through the room as the others all realize what she's just told them.

"Oh my God," Camille lets out. She immediately claps a hand over her mouth, unsure if her words will upset Jo.

James looks angry again, but Jo can tell that the anger is not directed at her. It's directed at _him, _the one who did this to her, the one who's supposed to be James' friend. In a weird way, Jo thinks James might feel just as betrayed and shitty as she does. No one wants to be best friends with a rapist, especially one who acts like he didn't even do anything wrong.

"Are you…?" Carlos' voice trails off. He's probably about to ask her if she's okay, but then he realizes—no, she's not. Of course she's not. How could she be?

"Who-?" Logan starts but then stops abruptly when Jo shakes her head.

"Don't ask me who. Please," she pleads. She's not ready for it to get out, not even a little bit. It terrifies her to imagine what would happen at school if she let a rumor get out that Jett Stetson raped her. Never mind the fact that it would be the truth.

"Have you, um, been checked out or anything?" Camille asks.

Jo shakes her head back and forth. "No."

"And we're the only ones who know?"

"I was… I've been too embarrassed to say anything," she admits. "I wanted it to not be real. I thought… I thought if I didn't talk about it, I wouldn't think about it, and it would just go away, and I could pretend it was just a bad dream."

"But that's not what happened," Carlos states.

"It's all I _can _think about."

"And are you… do you think you're ready to get help now?" Logan wants to know.

"I don't know," Jo sighs. "Maybe. I just… I don't want to have to relive it. It's too hard. Look, can we stop talking about it now?"

"Er, yeah, okay," Logan stutters.

Carlos comes to the rescue and starts telling a random story about a friend of his fell who out of a tree and broke his wrist, thoroughly distracting everyone from Jo. She's grateful for it. Only Carlos could lighten the mood in such a way, and Dr. Johnson looks pretty surprised to find the group laughing and talking when he comes back in to tell them that their half-hour is up.

* * *

><p>On Sunday during free time, James and Carlos decide to have a push-up contest, so Logan, Camille, and Lucy watch amusedly as the two boys exhaust themselves. Jo sits apart from them, having just returned from her one-on-one session with her therapist. She's thinking about how it went and trying to decide what to do next when Kendall comes in and sits with her.<p>

"How'd it go?" He asks.

Jo shrugs her shoulders. "I told her, if that's what you're asking."

"It is."

"She asked me if I want to press charges."

Kendall lets out a long breath. "Do you?"

"No," Jo says firmly. "I just… I want to move on. I don't want it to follow me around for months and months."

"Are you sure?" Kendall is in disbelief. "Don't you want him to pay for it?"

"It was my fault, Kendall," she replies quietly. "I was the one who wanted to be alone. I led him on. I made him think I wanted to."

"You can't blame yourself for what he did to you!" Kendall tries to tell her. "You can't seriously believe that."

"Why does it matter so much to you anyway?" Jo asks, getting defensive. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Yes it does," he argues. "I was _there! _I can.. I don't know, I could be a witness for you or something."

Jo snorts. "That'd be great testimony. You can tell the judge how we were all underage drinking and how I made out with Jett in front of the whole party and how I asked him if he wanted to go upstairs. Just leave it alone, Kendall. I'll figure something out."

"I can't just leave it alone!" Kendall says, frustrated.

"Why not? Why is this such a big deal to you?"

"Because I… I feel guilty."

Jo frowns in confusion. "Why would you feel guilty? I barely even saw you that night. That doesn't make sense."

Kendall's face reddens and he stutters out the next sentence awkwardly. "Because if I had—It never would have happened to you if—But then he got there first and I thought there was nothing I could do…"

"Kendall. What are you talking about?"

"I was going to ask you out that night," he says quickly, blushing. "I wanted to, and I talked myself into and out of it about five different times, and I was finally about to go talk to you, but then I saw you with him and I thought I'd lost my chance, so I walked away and let you go off with him. And I figured he'd… that's how he is, you know? He gets any girl he wants, doesn't even have to try, so I never thought he would—do…what he did. And if I would have just not been such a coward, I could have stopped it."

Jo is surprised into silence for a moment, processing what Kendall's telling her. She was so focused on her crush on Jett that she never even thought about Kendall that way. They'd met and hung out a few times before he was kicked off the hockey team, and he was always friendly towards her, but she never considered that he might see her as anything more than a friend.

"You were… going to ask me out?"

Kendall nods.

"I… wow. Oh." She doesn't know what else to say. She knows he's a nice guy, that he wouldn't hurt her, that she'd be safe with him… But after what happened, she can't bring herself to believe what she already knows. She can't look at guys the same way. They all remind her of _him_, and how he pinned her down to the bed, how he continued trying to remove articles of clothing even though she attempted to shove him away, how he just smirked at her afterward and told her she was good. Those images flash through her brain day and night, and she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to have a normal relationship.

"I understand if you're not ready," Kendall says after a while. "I don't expect you to be… I just felt like you should know. We—guys, I mean—we're not all like that."

"I know you're nothing like him, but I—" She pauses, searching for a way to voice what she's trying to say. "I just don't know how to go back to who I was before. I like you, or, I mean, I could, but… I don't know when I _will_ be ready. Or if I ever will be at all."

"I'll wait until you are," he grins.

"You shouldn't have to," Jo mumbles. "You might be waiting a long time."

"Hey, I'm a pretty patient guy," Kendall proclaims easily, leaning back and resting his head on his hands. "Persistent, too."

* * *

><p><em>I finally said it. Out loud.<em>

_And… it actually went better than I thought it would. I mean… I don't want to run around and scream it to the world. In fact, I'd still rather not talk about it at all, but it __**is **__nice just knowing that other people know. That someone heard me. _

_Dr. Beatty thinks I should tell my parents, but I am so not having that conversation with my dad. How can I? How would I even begin to tell him something like that? I can't. There's no way. He'd pull me out of school in a heartbeat and make me switch. Or he'd want to press charges right away, and there's no way I want that to happen. _

_And then there's Kendall. I think… I like him? I __**want **__to like him. But is it selfish to say that I just need to focus on myself? I sound like a bad breakup cliché. "I need to work on myself right now. You deserve better than this." But I mean… he does deserve better. He should be with someone who can actually be a real girlfriend. Not someone who flinches every time he gets too close. _

_I don't know. He said he's willing to wait, but I'm not sure he knows what he's getting into. _

_Ha. Does that mean I want him to wait? _

…_..I guess it does._

* * *

><p><strong>Wow. Okay, let me just say that I am soooo sorry I took so long to get this chapter uploaded. Insert excuses here. But thank you guys for reviewing and sending me messages on my blog! They definitely gave me the push I needed to get back in gear, and I promise that I won't take this long to update again! <strong>

**Anyway please please please _review_ and let me know what you thought about the chapter! I love the feedback and want to know what you guys like or don't like! (They also motivate me to write faster... just sayin'!) **

**Love to everyone! **


	7. Intoxicated

"_People always think they know other people, but they don't. Not really. I mean, maybe they know things about them, like they won't eat doughnuts or they like action movies or whatever. But they don't know what their friends do in their rooms alone at night or what happened to them when they were kids or if they feel fucked up and sad for no reason at all." ― Libba Bray, __Going Bovine_

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Intoxicated<p>

_Feel like I black out, pass out, every time that we touch  
>And if it hurts in the morning, then it must be love<br>I want your heart, baby, straight, no chaser  
>I wanna feel it in my head when I wake up<em>

* * *

><p>Mrs. Knight looks exhausted when she arrives to pick Kendall up from the Palm Woods on Sunday evening, and he feels guilty that she has to go out of her way for him. She's probably been on her feet all day long, working at the restaurant for shitty pay and jerk-off customers who leave crappy tips. Still, she smiles at her son and pulls him into a hug when she sees him, and he kisses her on the cheek.<p>

"How was your weekend?" She asks in the car.

"Alright," Kendall shrugs. "Same old, same old. We did trust-falls in group. It was weird. How was work?"

"Terrible," Mrs. Knight laughs. "What do you feel like having for dinner tonight?"

Kendall thinks for a moment. "Chinese?"

"Sure."

By the time they get home with the food, it's nearly dark out, and Katie and her babysitter are curled up together on the couch in the living room watching High School Musical and singing along. Mrs. Knight thanks the girl and invites her to stay for dinner, but she declines the offer and heads out, ruffling Katie's hair and waving goodbye to Kendall on her way. After dinner, Kendall and Katie clean up for their mom, who goes to take a shower and get ready for bed, tired from her long day.

"Did you see her at all this weekend?" Kendall asks his sister quietly.

"Um, Friday night. And for awhile yesterday morning," Katie bites her lip. "She wanted to do the double shifts for the extra money…" She looks away from Kendall, not wanting him to feel any more guilty than he already does.

Too late. Kendall frowns, knowing that the reason they're so strapped for cash is because of him. Because he lost control and had to get himself put in therapy. Now his mom can barely make ends meet, what with two kids to feed and bills to pay and the ridiculously high-priced treatment Kendall receives at the Palm Woods. Katie's had to give up ice-skating lessons for him. And Mrs. Knight has already dipped into her savings _and _his college fund to pay for it, and Kendall thinks that if it weren't for his dad's child-support checks, they wouldn't be making it all.

His frown deepens as Mr. Knight crosses his mind, and he forces himself not to think about him and how he walked out on their family about two years ago. Or how he moved back to Vermont, where he was originally from, and how now he has a new wife and a new replacement son who he will undoubtedly play baseball with in the backyard, and teach to fish and ride a bike. All the things he did with Kendall first, but for some reason, they weren't enough. For some reason Mrs. Knight and Kendall and Katie just didn't fit the perfect family picture Mr. Knight had in his head. They weren't enough for him.

At first, Kendall used to hope his dad would come back. That he'd realize he was wrong and he needed his family. He hoped it because he didn't like hearing his mother cry late at night when she thought her kids were asleep. He hoped it because he didn't want his baby sister to grow up without a dad. But he also hoped it because he was a fourteen year old boy who—though he loved his mother very much—needed his dad around when he wanted advice on how to ask a girl out for the first time. Or when the JV hockey team had a sons vs. dads game that he couldn't participate in. Or when his freshman year health class sent home all these pamphlets about sex-ed along with a slip that had to be signed by a parent saying they had gone over the material together.

Now he hopes he never sees Mark Knight again. But still, he wonders if Mark ever thinks about him and Katie, or wonders how they're doing—if they get good grades, if they have friends. He used to check in and call every so often, but Kendall started refusing to speak to him, and soon after that, so did Katie. Now he doesn't call. The last time they heard from him, it was to tell them he was getting remarried and invite them out to the wedding.

Kendall remembers laughing out loud at the mere thought that he would want anything to do with his father's new wife. The phone call had come about three days after Kendall's fifteenth birthday. Mark didn't even mention it. Kendall said he'd think about it but he hung up the phone and never called him back or heard from him again. To Kendall it seemed pretty clear that it didn't matter to Mark whether he and Katie were in his life or not, so he decided to make it easier on everyone and just sever ties.

After they're done cleaning up, Katie asks Kendall to check her math homework. Kendall grins because Katie is great at math; she's only asking because she wants an excuse for Kendall to stay with her a while longer. It's funny how she's so good at acting like she's tough and independent, like she doesn't need help from anyone. It's easy to forget that she's only eleven years old. But she _is _only eleven, and sometimes—only sometimes—Kendall can see right through her shell to the little girl that she is. The little girl whose daddy left when she was barely nine years old, whose mother has to work day and night to support what's left of their family. The little girl whose big brother, who she looks up to more than anyone on the planet, majorly screwed up and had to go to the hospital for alcohol poisoning before being put into treatment for addiction at the age of seventeen.

He checks over her paper, which is free of errors as he knew it would be, and kisses the top of her head before he leaves her room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>He doesn't know if it's more lucky for Jett or himself that he doesn't run into him all day, because like James, Kendall feels that if it comes down to it, he could probably kill him on the spot and not feel bad about it at all.<p>

Luck, however, doesn't stay on his side for long, because just before study hall, Jett approaches him while he's standing at his locker, digging through the mess for a book he needs.

"Hey, Knight, you have Collins for English, right? Does she accept late papers?"

Kendall acts as if he hasn't heard him. He slams the locker shut and walks off towards study hall, just as Jo is rounding a corner to head that way as well.

"Knight!" Jett reaches out to grab Kendall by the elbow, unaccustomed to being ignored. The frightened look on Jo's face as she sees Jett is enough to set Kendall off. He spins quickly and shoves Jett backwards into the row of metal lockers, causing a loud clang to echo through the hallway.

"Hey man, what the f—"

Kendall punches Jett square in the eye before backing off, seething with pent-up anger. "You stay away from me, dick," he snarls.

"_What_ is your problem, psycho?" Jett asks angrily, holding his eye but not yet fighting back.

Kendall steps toward him again but stops when Jo reaches out to grab his wrist.

"Don't," she pleads hoarsely. "Leave it. Let's go. Please."

The confusion on Jett's face morphs into realization as he looks between Kendall and Jo. He opens his mouth to say something but the bell rings, cutting him off, and he thinks better of it. He turns his back on the pair, scowling, and stalks off in the direction of his class, but Kendall has a feeling that this isn't over.

They go into the library for study hall and sit with James in the back corner, none of them saying a word, though Kendall can tell James knows something's going on. Kendall tries throughout the period to focus on his homework, but the terrified look on Jo's face won't leave his mind, and it just makes him angrier and angrier as he thinks about Jett and how he has the nerve to show his face at school after what he did.

When the period ends, the trio walks outside to the front of the school to wait for Jo's father to come pick her up. They fill James in on what happened just before study hall and have to actively stop him from hunting Jett down again. Jo's dad is running late and the school begins to empty out, but the boys stay with her, both reluctant to leave her alone, even though it's broad daylight and she's out in the open.

When Mr. Taylor finally arrives, Kendall and James wave goodbye to her and James offers Kendall a ride home, since he's missed the bus he should have been on.

"Sure," Kendall agrees. "Let me just go back to my locker for a sec."

Because the universe seems to be screaming for an altercation, the boys run smack into Jett Stetson. Kendall notes, not without some satisfaction, that he's already sporting somewhat of a black eye.

"Fuck off, Knight. Are you following me now, or what?" Jett tries to shove past Kendall and James, but Kendall blocks him, noticing that James looks uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"You're a dead man, Stetson," Kendall says, shoving Jett.

Jett shoves him back roughly and blocks it when Kendall aims another swing at his face. "You'll be the dead man if you don't back off! I don't know what your damage is, but maybe you need to take up with your _therapist _and not me."

"You're my damage, asshole!"

Jett shoves Kendall again, and this time his back and head hit a wall, making him see stars for a brief second. Jett approaches to aim another hit but James quickly puts himself between the two boys.

"Back off, Jett."

"What the fuck, Diamond? You on his side now?"

James says nothing and Kendall can tell he's struggling with something internally. Unlike Kendall, James has managed to keep his social status since getting put into therapy. Sticking up for Kendall Knight, disgraced former jock and known alcoholic, will probably not do much for his reputation. He's on thin ice as it is, having been seen being friendly with Lucy Stone. Kendall half-expects him to back down, to leave with Jett in order to protect his status, so his mouth drops open in surprise when James punches Jett in the face himself.

Caught off guard by his best friend's attack, Jett staggers backward and loses his balance, nose starting to bleed.

"Stay away from Kendall. And Jo Taylor," James growls.

"Look I don't know what she told you—"

"Just save it!" James spits. "She told us the truth, and if you know what's good for you, you won't show your smarmy face around me again."

"She's fucking lying, James!"

"If she's lying, why didn't you tell me about her before?" He retorts. "Why'd you keep it a secret, when you usually can't wait to tell me every time you add a new notch to the bedpost?"

Kendall knows James has won the argument as soon as he asks the question. Jett seems to be at a loss for words, unable to come up with an excuse for why he wouldn't share with his best friend how he hooked up with the new girl.

"Right," James mutters when his friend has no response. "You're disgusting."

He and Kendall leave Jett in the hallway, walking silently away from the scene.

"You're gonna be sorry, Diamond," Jett calls out. "Don't think nothing's gonna change around here after this!"

James pauses, as if he wants to turn back, but he clenches his jaw shut and continues walking, picking up his pace while Kendall follows quickly behind him.

"You didn't have to step in back there," Kendall says. "I mean, I know he's your friend and all—"

"He's not my friend," James interrupts. "He never really has been."

"I—oh. Well, anyway, thanks."

"Don't mention, it, Knight," he grins. "I couldn't just stand there and let him beat your skinny ass anyway. Even if you are a hockey player."

Kendall snorts with laughter as he dumps his backpack into the backseat of James' black Explorer. "I'm just surprised you risked your pretty-boy face for me. I'm touched, honestly."

"Oh, shut up. Or do you _want _to walk home in this cold weather?"

* * *

><p>At lunch the following the day, Kendall immediately notices something is amiss. He scans the cafeteria and quickly finds what he's looking for. James is standing near his usual table with the same crowd of popular kids that he always sits with, but he has an angry look on his face as he speaks in low tones to Jett, who's smirking obnoxiously. As Kendall gets closer he can hear what they're saying.<p>

"Sorry, Diamond. You know how it is. Table's all full."

"You serious right now, Jett?" James asks.

Kendall glances at the table. Mercedes Griffin, Tina, and a few other kids are looking away uncomfortably, pretending not to notice what's happening right in front of them. There are clearly at least three empty seats at the table, but Jett is purposely turning James away.

Jett leans forward. "I told you you were gonna be sorry, Diamond. Why don't you go sit with your new boyfriend? Seems like he's waiting for you." Jett tilts his head out, indicating Kendall's presence.

James glances over his shoulder, realizing for the first time that Kendall's there.

"You know what? Screw you. _All_ of you," James sneers. Tina looks up at him apologetically, but says nothing.

He scowls at the table and kicks a chair before leaving the cafeteria. Kendall follows him into the hallway.

"What was that about?"

"Jett asked me if I was lost when I tried to sit at my usual seat," James laughs bitterly. "Like a fuckin' fifteen year old girl. Should've known better." He runs a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up slightly and then immediately reaching into his back pocket for a comb.

He and Kendall eat their lunch in the hallway, and when the bell rings, neither of them attempts to get up and go to class. As the hallway begins to fill, kids who pass by whisper behind their hands at the sight of the two them together, and Kendall does his best to ignore it.

"I feel like ditching the rest of the day. You in?" Kendall asks.

"Dude, if I get in trouble again, my mom's gonna pull me out of school and send me to military school or something."

"James Diamond, scared of mama?" Kendall teases. "Come on. I need outta here."

"Fuck it," James murmurs, standing to join Kendall. They sneak out a side door and head for the nearby park—the same when James went to with Jo when he first found out about what happened to her.

To their surprise, the park isn't empty when they get there. Carlos is there, also ditching school, as well as Lucy and Carlos' friend Andy and another girl that Kendall has never seen before. They're sitting at the edge of the woods and Kendall can see the smoke before he smells it. He thinks it's pretty ballsy of them to be smoking weed out in the open like this, and he almost wants to stop and turn around, but they've already come this far…

Andy and the other girl are getting up to leave as Kendall and James approach, both of them giving the boys weird looks as they pass, as if wondering what they could be doing here. Kendall Knight and James Diamond are not part of the usual crowd that hangs out here, after all. But Andy probably just thinks they're coming to buy some pills off of Carlos or something. He's handing Lucy a joint as Kendall and James sit down, and she takes a long hit off it before handing it back, inhaling deeply and holding it in before blowing the smoke out.

"What brings you out to stoner-land?" Lucy asks, laying down on the grass and closing her eyes.

"Just needed to get away for a bit," Kendall shrugs. Carlos offers him the joint next, but Kendall eyes it warily. He's supposed to stay from alcohol and drugs—anything that might tempt him back into his old habits. He shakes his head, and Carlos holds it out to James, who accepts it.

They stay in the park right up until it's time for school to let out, smoking and talking about nothing and everything.

When Kendall gets home, his mother's still at work, but there's a message on the answering machine from his school, letting her know that Kendall had missed several classes that day. He erases the message and listens to the next one. A frown forms on his face when he recognizes the voice. Mark Knight has called to check in—he wants Kendall and Katie to call him back. Kendall erases that message, too. It's pretty rich that his dad would call after over a year of silence just to chat.

He checks the mail and notes with dismay that the majority of the envelopes are bills—water, electricity, house payment, American Express, Palm Woods. He wonders how his mother is managing. Soon she'll have to dip into Katie's college fund, too, and that stresses Kendall out more than he can explain. His family shouldn't have to suffer because of him, but they are. They'd never tell him that, of course, but he knows it's true.

Kendall opens the refrigerator to look for something to snack on, and freezes when he sees the pack of wine-coolers on the shelf. Usually his mother locks away her alcohol, after everything that's happened with Kendall, but she must have forgotten to do so, what with being so distracted with work and Katie and trying to balance her checkbook. He shouldn't be tempted, but he is. What sucks the most, he thinks, is that he knows he _shouldn't _want it, but he does. He doesn't like admitting it, because he wants his mom and Katie to think that he's better now, but the truth is… he misses it sometimes. He misses the taste, the warm feeling in his stomach, the slight buzz that numbs his fingertips and makes everything seem better for awhile.

Kendall slams the refrigerator door shut just as the front door opens and Katie walks in, having been dropped off by her car pool.

"Hey, big brother," Katie greets him with a hug.

"What's up, baby sister?"

Katie looks at him strangely. "Why do you look so weirded out? And why do you smell funny?"

"I—what? I don't smell funny," Kendall stutters, knowing it's a lie.

"Yeah you do. It's smells like smoke, only… not exactly."

"Oh, well… I picked this shirt up off the ground this morning. Thought it was clean. Guess it wasn't," he laughs nervously. "Maybe I'll do my laundry and fix the situation."

He hurries out of the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom, where he strips off the plaid shirt and takes a whiff. Sure enough, he can clearly smell the pot on it, and he balls it up and throws it into his laundry basket, along with his t-shirt and his jeans, just in case. He starts a load of laundry, not bothering to separate the colors, and goes to take a shower, in case his hair smells, too.

Kendall wonders briefly if he should tell Katie and his mom that Mark called. Shouldn't he let Katie decide for herself if she wants to talk to him? He also wonders if Mark even knows about everything that's going on with him. Was he even aware that Kendall had been hospitalized? That he was no longer playing hockey? That he was receiving psychological treatment for his alcohol abuse? Surely Jen Knight would have told her ex-husband about that. And if he _was _aware of all that, why hadn't he called sooner? Didn't he even care that his eldest child was going through something? That maybe he needed help?

By the time he finishes showering and changing, Katie's already working on her homework at the kitchen table. Kendall wonders where she gets her work ethic from, since when he was her age, Mrs. Knight had to force him to sit down and do his schoolwork. Even now, he procrastinates as much as possible, often waiting until the very last minute to start his assignments. He decides to join her, and the two siblings sit together while going over their respective work, throwing carrots at each other and bickering.

"Dad called today," he tells her.

Katie doesn't react. She continues working on her long division as if Kendall hasn't spoken.

"Katie—"

"I heard you," she says. "So what?"

"He wants you—us—to call him back."

"So what?" She mumbles again.

"I deleted the message already," Kendall says.

"Good."

"Should I tell Mom he called?"

"Why bother? Unless he decided to come back it doesn't really matter."

"Yeah… you're right."

Kendall's phone beeps and he reads a text from his mom. She's picking up a late shift at work, so he and Katie will be on their own for dinner tonight. Kendall grills some burgers for them while Katie prepares the buns with ketchup and lettuce and pickles, and they eat dinner in front of the TV, where Katie makes Kendall watch the Hannah Montana Movie with her for the eighty-seventh time.

When Katie goes to bed, Kendall is left sitting in the living room. He probably should do some reading for class, or anything to distract himself from the fact that there's a drink in the refrigerator. His mother won't be home for a while, and really the only thing stopping him is the knowledge that he'll have to tell his mother he slipped up. But he wants it. Bad. It sucks because he actually thought he was pulling himself together. He thought he might be ready to leave therapy soon, to beg for his spot on the hockey team back, to try to get his life back on track. But now he's just proving to himself and everyone that he's nowhere near ready.

He looks down at his phone and scrolls the contacts before he can talk himself out of it. Hopefully she won't be upset that he's calling so late, but he _really_ needs a distraction right now.

Jo picks up on the third ring.

"_Hello?" _She sounds sleepy.

_Shit, I woke her up. _

"_Kendall?"_

"I—hey, Jo."

"_Hi." _

"Sorry. You're asleep, right? I'll let you go."

"_No, it's fine. Are you okay?" _

"Yeah—well, no. I don't know."

"_Huh?"_

"It's just… You know how Logan made us all exchange numbers and said we should call each other if we ever felt, like, I don't know, like we needed to talk?"

"_Yeah… What's going on, Kendall?"_

"Nothing—well, I don't know, it's hard to explain. My mom's at work right now and she left a drink in the refrigerator…"

"_Oh," _Jo says softly. _"Did you…?"_

"No," Kendall replies earnestly. "I didn't drink it. I _want _to, though. That's the problem."

"_That's a good thing, Kendall. You're controlling the urge instead of giving into it."_

"I guess. But I just feel like… Like I shouldn't want it as bad as I do. I thought—I guess I just thought I was ready to move past this."

"_It just takes time," _Jo tells him.

"I know. Look, I'm really sorry I woke you up."

"_Don't worry about it. I'm glad you called me."_

"Thanks for listening. I'll let you get back to sleep."

"_No problem. See you tomorrow. Unless you and James are gonna ditch me at study hall again," _she says teasingly.

"Sorry," Kendall grins, though she can't see it. "I hope you weren't too lonely without us."

"_Oh yeah, you know how much I love Mercedes shooting me the death glare for 45 minutes." _

Kendall frowns. "Ignore her."

"_I try. Good night, Kendall." _

"Night."

Kendall hangs up, smiling softly to himself and feeling marginally better after speaking with Jo. Maybe Logan's on to something with his whole 'talk shit out' thing. Or maybe he was just glad to have an excuse to talk to Jo on the phone. Either way, he's glad he called her.

When his mom gets home a short while later, Kendall has dozed off on the couch. He opens his eyes slowly when Mrs. Knight touches his shoulder to rouse him.

"Kendall, what are you doing in here?" She asks. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"You left a drink in the refrigerator," Kendall blurts.

Mrs. Knight's face pales and her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh, no. I couldn't have! I'm so sorry, baby." She pulls Kendall into a tight hug, distraught at her mistake.

"Mom! Relax. I didn't drink it."

"You didn't?" Mrs. Knight almost looks skeptical. Kendall can't blame her.

"You can check if you want."

"No, that's okay. I am so sorry I forgot to put it away, Kendall. I don't know how that happened."

"It's okay, Mom."

"No it isn't," Mrs. Knight says, distressed. "I'm supposed to be helping you, not leaving temptations like this right in front of you and leaving you alone for hours on end."

"You just have a lot on your mind," Kendall assures her. "And I'm okay."

"I'm so proud of you, son," Mrs. Knight says. "You have no idea."

Kendall refrains from saying how sad it is that she's proud of him for not drinking. She should be proud because he's captain of the hockey team, because he's on the honor roll, because he's got a legitimate shot at getting a scholarship to a good school. She's proud of him for something other parents wouldn't even have to worry about. It's depressing that he's become such a letdown, especially since it seemed like nothing could go wrong for him. Of course, he knows his mother would never say that to him. But it doesn't mean it's not true.

He only mutters a weak "thanks, Mom" and allows her to steer him to his bedroom so he can get some sleep. Moments later he hears the kitchen sink running, and he knows she must be pouring the offending bottles down the drain. Maybe she thinks that tempting Kendall with them, even accidentally, revokes her right to enjoy the drink.

Something weird is going on at school the next day. Everywhere he goes, people stare and whisper behind his back, and he feels sure that he's being talked about, but he doesn't know why. A big guy bumps into him in the hallway, someone from the football team, and it's not until he tells Kendall to "Watch it, fag," that he realizes what's happening.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," smirks the jock as he continues on his way.

Kendall's too surprised to even go after or him or confront the guy about what he said, but as the day progresses, it becomes pretty clear that what Football Guy said wasn't just a fluke. Someone must have taken what Jett said about Kendall being James' boyfriend seriously. His friends from the hockey team give him weird looks and pretend not to notice when he tries to get their attention, and people in general avoid him. It's like he's got a kick-me sign on his back, except the sign says "fag-alert" instead.

He doesn't see James at lunchtime, and his friend doesn't show up to study hall either. He and Jo sit quietly together, passing a note back and forth. She's heard the rumor, of course, and Kendall has to tell her several times that it's not her fault. She thinks Jett is doing this as a way to get back at them for defending her; and if Kendall admits it, yeah, she's right, but he in no way blames her for this. All of it belongs squarely on Jett Stetson's shoulders, and if he has anything to do with it, Jett will pay.

After school, Jo is planning to walk home, so Kendall offers to walk with her. A crowd of kids is starting to gather in an alley just off school property, so they pause to see what's going on.

"Is this your idea of a fucking joke?" They hear James' voice. They shove their way through the mass of people to get to the front just in time to see him shove Jett into taking a few steps back.

"What are you talking about?" Jett asks innocently, a malicious grin on his face.

"Don't play dumb, asshole!" James shouts. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Now, James," Jett says placatingly, "there's nothing to be ashamed of. I personally believe that it's great. Everyone should be free to—"

James interrupts him by punching him in the same eye that's still bruised from when Kendall hit him. "Why don't you just admit what this really is? Because I know it's not about Kendall. It's about Jo Taylor."

"Aw, what's the matter, Diamond? Mad I got in there before you had a chance? Jealous much?"

Kendall has to step in to prevent James from launching himself at Jett. "Yeah, I'm so jealous that you have to _rape_ girls to get them into bed with you!" James yells furiously, struggling to get out of Kendall's grip.

"James!" Kendall shakes his friend's shoulders to get him to snap out of it and realize what he's done.

"Oh, fuck," James murmurs.

There's a collective gasp from the crowd and an instant buzz of talk. All eyes move from the fight to Jo, standing at the edge of the crowd. She's frozen to her spot for an instant before turning and fleeing the scene. Kendall and James force their way through the crowd in order to chase after her, leaving everyone in bemused conversation.

"Jo! Wait up!" James calls.

Jo stops running and falls to her knees in a patch of grass. "How could you do that?" She cries. Kendall wonders if she's going to start hyperventilating. She looks close to doing so. "I asked you to leave it alone! All I wanted was for it to go away!"

"I didn't mean to say it! It slipped out, I'm sorry!" James tries to apologize but his words have no effect.

"You couldn't just stay out of it," she says miserably. "I didn't want anyone to know. Don't touch me!" Her voice is shrill when James tries to lift her back onto her feet. She gets up on her own and starts walking in the direction of her house. When Kendall and James try to go with her she turns abruptly. "Don't come with me! Don't follow me."

"But—" Kendall tries to protest.

"I mean it, Kendall!"

She walks away, leaving the two boys standing there in silence.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," James says after a moment.

"I know," Kendall replies. "But now what do we do?"

"No idea."

* * *

><p>The whispers and stares follow Kendall and James for the rest of the week. Kendall has to stop James from getting in fights several times, and this probably does nothing to quell the rumor mill. Kendall wonders whether people actually believe he and James are dating (it sounds so <em>weird<em>, even in his head), or if they just enjoy having something to gossip about, even though there's no truth to it at all.

Jo isn't having an easy time of it either. In the battle of most popular boy in school against three former cool-kids-turned-psycho, it's not hard to believe. Everyone seems to have sided with Jett, choosing to believe that Jo holds a grudge against him for hooking up with her and then dating her best friend. She can barely show her face anywhere without getting picked on, and every time Kendall wants to help or step in, she glares at him and leaves, refusing to speak to him.

He tries calling her a few times, but gives up when it becomes obvious that she will not pick up the phone for him.

Mrs. Knight notices the change in her son's behavior and starts to worry and fuss over him—he's not eating enough, he's not speaking enough, he seems depressed. He knows she means well, but all she's doing is making him feel suffocated.

Thursday night, when Katie and his mother are asleep, he sends a text message and gets out of bed. He gets dressed and digs out some cash he's kept for a rainy day from his underwear drawer. When his phone beeps with a reply, he's ready to go. He eases open the window and sneaks out, enjoying the winter air on his face as he walks out to the park.

He re-reads the text when he gets there, following the directions into the woods, down a dirt path, past the big tree that had been struck by lightning once, into a small clearing where twenty or so kids are gathered. Kendall stands awkwardly on the outskirts of the party until he hears his name. He looks in the direction of the voice and makes his way over, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

Carlos claps him on the back in greeting, taking a hit off a joint and then offering it to Kendall. Kendall takes it before he can think twice about it, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs until he can't stand the burn anymore.

"Now what's jock-boy Kendall Knight doing here?" Carlos' friend Wayne calls out from across the clearing, taking a swig from a glass bottle.

"Ex jock-boy," Kendall calls back, not offended by Wayne's teasing tone. He's a dick, but he's usually harmless. "Or didn't you hear? I'm crazy now." He refers to his current stint at the Palm Woods openly, no longer caring if everyone knows.

Wayne laughs and comes over to hand the bottle to Kendall, his own way of welcoming him to the party. Carlos reaches out to stop him, but Kendall knocks his hand out of the way and takes the bottle.

"So what's your deal?" Wayne asks. "Or do you always look like someone just ran over your puppy?"

Kendall laughs humorlessly and takes a drink, savoring the taste of the alcohol as it burns his tongue and throat. "You mean besides the fact that the whole school thinks I'm secretly fucking James Diamond?" He takes another drink. "Or that Jo's not speaking to me? Or that my mom is this close to losing our house because she can't afford the payments ever since I went to the hospital?" He knows he should shut up, but the alcohol has loosened his tongue, and he has no problems airing out his dirty laundry in front of everyone.

"Bummer times," Wayne says with the air of someone who can't be bothered to care about anyone else's personal life. "At least there's a party." He fishes out a small plastic container of pills and hands one to Kendall. "On me. Just this once."

Kendall eyes it warily for a minute before shrugging and popping it in his mouth, washing it down with yet another drink from the glass bottle. He feels warm and lightheaded and carefree, and God, he missed this, and he wonders for a while why he ever stopped drinking in the first place. What was so wrong with wanting to feel like nothing mattered? This is great, he thinks. Who needs treatment? All it does is make him feel guilty and sad.

He stays in the woods with Carlos and his friends nearly all night, passing out after a while and curling up at the edge of the clearing. When he wakes up his head is throbbing and his mouth feels fuzzy. He's got leaves and dirt stuck in his hair and all over his clothes. He stumbles a little when he tries to stand, nearly tripping over a girl sleeping nearby. He checks his phone for the time and pales. His mother will be waking up any minute now to get ready for her morning shift at the restaurant, and she always checks in on him and Katie before she leaves.

_Fuck, _Kendall thinks as he tries to force his body to move. He still feels foggy and numb, and now nauseated because he's attempting to run. He stops to catch his breath, kneeling down and inhaling deeply. His eyes are watering and he's not even sure if he's actually crying or if it's from the cold early-morning wind.

Now that he's awake and mostly sober, all he can do is think about how stupid he is. He never should have gone out to the woods, never should have taken the bottle from Wayne. For a fleeting moment, he's angry at Carlos for allowing him to come out here, but even that doesn't thwart the guilt. _He _was the one who texted Carlos first. _He _wanted to go out and get fucked up. Kendall hates himself for sabotaging his own recovery, for thinking even for a moment that he didn't need help getting past all this. Still kneeling in the dirt at the edge of the woods, he lets the nausea overtake him and vomits into a bush, spitting up mostly bile from his empty stomach. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, along with eyes, and, yes, now he's sure, he's definitely crying.

He walks slowly the rest of the way home, not bothering to hurry anymore. He can't hide from his mother, no matter how bad he wants to. An elderly man out for an early-morning stroll gives Kendall a stern look, appraising his unkempt appearance and smoky smell. Kendall ignores the man and continues on his way, past the park, down the street, around the corner, and up a few blocks until he gets to his own street. He's only a few houses away when his phone starts to ring. It's his mother.

"Hello?"

"_Kendall? Kendall! Where are you?" _Mrs. Knight sounds absolutely panicked.

Kendall sniffs before answering. "I'm outside," he says, just as he makes it to the edge of the driveway. He hangs up the phone and walks up to the front porch.

He's met by his mother flinging the door open to find him standing there, bleary-eyes, clothes dirty, hair with leaves stuck in it, smelling unmistakably like pot and liquor.

"Kendall! What happened to you? Where have you been?" His mother cries, pulling her son into a tight hug that he returns. His knees almost buckle but he forces himself to remain upright, letting Mrs. Knight bring him into the living room.

"Mom—" he chokes out, but it's all he can say before he lets his tears fall again, and he can't even muster up the energy to be embarrassed about crying in front of his mother at the age of seventeen.

* * *

><p><em>You know what I learned this week?<em>

_The minute you think you're better, the minute you think you're ready to do things on your own, the minute you think you don't need help anymore… that is when the world will inevitably bitch-slap you back into place. _

_I tried so hard to keep it together for my mom, for Katie, for Jo and James and everyone. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to stop trying to be strong for them so I can learn how to be strong for myself. Is that selfish? Probably. The thing is, I don't know how _not _to be that person. I don't know how to not be the guy everyone looks up to. When you spend your whole life living with everyone's high expectations of you, it kind of steals your identity when suddenly no one has any expectations at all. _

_I thought I was figuring out who I was all this time at the Palm Woods. Turns out I still have no idea. _


	8. The Sun Will Rise

**Wow. Okay. First of all I am SO sorry that this took so long to get up. I hope you guys like it and I promise x10000 that I won't take so long to get chapter 9 up. So please please let me know what you think!**

* * *

><p>"<em>Yeah, I fell…but these guys caught me. It's what mates do. 'Cause it's screwed up out there. I don't know if you've been outside lately, but it is. But we have a go. Whatever comes, we have a good go at it. It's all we can do."-Nick Levan, Skins<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: The Sun Will Rise<p>

_I've been stuck in a storm before, felt the wind raging at my door  
>Couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't find a way out<br>Somehow, the clouds disappeared  
>Somehow, I made it here.<em>

* * *

><p>Kendall's not in the room when Logan checks into the Palm Woods this week. He's usually always there before Logan, sprawled on his bed and writing in his journal or hanging out in the lobby with the rest of their gang. Come to think of it… Logan doesn't recall seeing Kendall at school that day either. He wonders if maybe he should have called him to see if he was okay, but then he wonders if he's just being paranoid. For all he knows, Kendall could have just caught a stomach bug and stayed home to get better.<p>

He puts his bag down in his room and plops down onto his own bed, staring at the ticking clock and wishing he was allowed to have his cell phone or laptop with him. Instead, he takes out his copy of _Heart of Darkness _and opens it to his bookmarked page, pausing when his sleeve rides up on his arm. He no longer has to wear bandages over his wrists, and the stitches are gone, so now every time he looks down he can see the long, pale scars that shout to the world what he did. Or what he tried to do, at least.

The wounds haven't completely healed yet, so the pink lines stand out against his light skin and Logan knows enough to know that these types of scars won't ever completely fade away. He wonders if he'll ever be able to wear short-sleeved shirts again, or if he'll spend the rest of his life wearing jackets and button-downs to hide the evidence.

He tries half-heartedly to make some progress in the book he's been assigned for English, but finally calls it quits when it's nearly time to head upstairs for group. James and Carlos are there with Lucy and Jo. Camille comes in right behind Logan. But Kendall doesn't show up until the very last second, looking exhausted and upset. During group he looks antsy, giving rushed responses to questions and not paying much attention to the activities. When Dr. Johnson finally leaves the room, all eyes turn to him.

"What's the matter, Kendall?" Logan asks.

"I fucked up," he says immediately. "I drank last night."

Everyone looks surprised except for Carlos, who suddenly seems extremely interested in a speck of dirt on the floor, which does not go unnoticed by Logan.

"What happened? Is that why you didn't come to school today?"

Kendall nods. "I went to—" He pauses and glances at Carlos. "I went to the woods last night."

Carlos' territory. Everyone knows that. He's still looking awkwardly away from the group, not wanting to face their questions.

"Carlos?" Logan starts.

"It's not his fault," Kendall steps in. "I wanted to go out there. He tried to keep me from drinking and I ignored him. My mom kept me home from school and she didn't go to work either."

"Are you alright though?" Camille asks, concerned.

Kendall shrugs. "I don't know. Not really. I was stupid. I shouldn't have done it. My mom can't afford to miss work because of me," he says, stressed. "What if she gets fired and it's all my fault?"

No one really knows what to say to make him feel better. They have no way of knowing if things will turn out okay or not, so how can they give him false hope and tell him everything's fine? They can't. Because if they've learned anything about each other over the past weeks and months, it's that they trust each other to tell the truth, even when it might not be what they want to hear. Instead they settle for just being there for each other. It's the best they can do.

* * *

><p>At dinner Logan sits in between Camille and Kendall. He watches silently as Camille meticulously cuts up her food and pushes it around her plate. Every so often she brings the fork up to her mouth, then suddenly has something to add to the conversation and pauses. By the end of the mealtime she's taken exactly six bites. He counted.<p>

She looks morosely down at her plate, shoving it towards Carlos and James, who pick off the bits they want for themselves. Underneath the table, Logan's hand finds hers and gives it a gentle squeeze, and he doesn't move it afterward. She gives him a small smile, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as she allows him to hold her hand.

It's not really romantic; at least, Logan doesn't think it is. He means it to be comforting. A show of friendship. Just to let her know he's there. He hasn't really sorted out what his feelings for Camille might be, mostly because he's not sure if he's ready to complicate his life further by trying to bring a girlfriend into it. But he does know that she's a good friend, that they enjoy each other's company, and that someday—maybe soon—friendship might not be enough for either of them.

But someday isn't today, and that's a conversation that will have to wait for another time. When he's more stable. When he can wake up in the morning and be ready to face the day ahead, rather than wishing he didn't have to.

After dinner, Carlos wants to show them something. The group sneaks down the hall to a stairwell that doesn't often get used, passing a red-headed girl on their way who watches them all disappear through the unlocked door.

"Where are we going, Carlos?" Jo wants to know.

"You'll see," he replies, leading them up the stairs.

They quietly climb higher and higher until finally Carlos stops and pulls open a door. Everyone shudders as a blast of cold air hits them, before realizing where Carlos has brought them.

"Dude. Are we on the roof?" James asks.

"Yep," Carlos says happily. "I found out that the maintenance guys usually forget to lock it. Anyone can just come up here."

"Does anyone else know about this?" Kendall walks cautiously out onto the flat surface, taking in the view around him. The sun is just starting to set, casting an orange glow over everything.

"I don't think so," Carlos answers. "I've never seen anyone even use these stairs."

"I don't know if we should be up here, guys," Logan says, a worried expression on his face. "We could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds us."

"Aw, calm down, Mitchell," Lucy nudges him good-naturedly. "What are they gonna do to us?" She follows Kendall outside, zipping up her jacket to protect her from the cold air.

Soon Logan and Camille are the only ones still standing in the doorway. "Should we?" Logan looks at Camille.

"Only if you promise not to jump," she says. She slips her hand into his again to let him know she's joking and pulls him outside.

They walk over to the ledge, away from the other members of their group, and sit together, keeping an eye on everyone and watching the sunset.

"You're still not eating much," Logan says after a moment.

"I'm working on it," she murmurs.

"Are you?"

"It's hard," Camille sighs. "I _want _to want it. I just…"

"Don't want it?" Logan tries with a half-smile.

"Pretty much."

"I'm sure you'll get there."

"Here's to hoping."

Logan yawns and stretches his arms, and the sleeves on his hoodie ride up enough to reveal the scars on his wrists. He allows Camille to trace them lightly with her fingertips, rather than cover them instantly like he normally does. His skin tingles wherever she touches him and he has a fleeting urge to kiss her that he suppresses for the moment. He's already told himself that he needs to get himself together before he can think about her that way. It wouldn't be fair to drag her into his problems; but then again, he reflects, it's not like there's anything she doesn't already know.

Those scars that he's letting her touch, letting her see—it's not something he does for everyone. He hides them from everyone else—his parents, his old friends—because they only serve as a shameful reminder of how he let things spiral. They lead to questions that he's unprepared and unwilling to answer and sometimes, when his thoughts turn dark, he isn't sure which he regrets more: the fact that he tried to kill himself, or the fact that he didn't succeed. His parents would prefer to ignore the problem completely, perfectly happy in their fantasy world of a picture-perfect family of a successful doctor, real-estate agent, and straight-A genius son. And his old friends… well. They've all but abandoned him, basically, unsure of how to treat him after what happened. They don't understand him or his feelings or anything, really, and instead of trying to do so, mostly they've backed off.

"They don't freak you out?" He can't stop himself from voicing the question on his mind. He knows what her answer will be, but he still needs to hear it. Needs to know for sure that his insecurities are unfounded and she won't be like the others who so easily walked away from him.

"Nope," Camille replies without hesitation, just as he knew she would. "Everyone has their issues, Logan. People like us… we just let ours get out of control for a little while."

"So how did you deal with it last time things got too out of control?"

Camille smiles humorlessly and looks at Logan as if the answer is obvious. And if he thinks about it for a moment, it is. "I stopped eating until they took me to the hospital."

* * *

><p>Logan swats Kendall's hand away grumpily. It's too early to get up for breakfast.<p>

"Ten more minutes," he mumbles into his pillow.

"Logan, you gotta get up!"

Through his sleepy haze, Logan hears something not right in Kendall's voice, and it makes him perk up a little bit.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. Something bad, I think."

That's when he hears the sirens and the alarm and his brain finally clicks into gear. He sits up and rubs his eyes, squinting because of the harsh glare of the overhead lights. The fire alarm is sounding through the building, and an automated voice is directing everyone to remain calm and exit the building quickly. Kendall is shoving his feet into his sneakers without bothering to untie them, and Logan looks up at the clock. It's just after four A.M. He puts on his own shoes and hoodie and follows Kendall out into the lobby, where a bunch of other sleepy and confused-looking kids are standing around, wondering what's happening. They're being shepherded outside in lines like some sort of middle school fire drill, and Kendall and Logan follow the crowd, listening to the shouted directions of the night-staff nurses, doctors, and counselors, still unaware of why this is happening.

They end up at the very back of the crowd with James and Carlos. Carlos stops to tie his shoe and the others wait for him, getting left behind as the line of people moves forward without them. He struggles with it for an agonizingly long minute because somehow the laces ended up knotted together and by the time he's fixed it and stands up straight, ready to move forward, Logan has stopped dead in his tracks.

"Loges? You okay?"

They follow his gaze to where an ambulance has parked, and several police officers stand talking into walkie-talkies. They recognize a few of the doctors and counselors speaking with the police, and their confusion only mounts higher. They're tired and freezing, and they just want to know what's going on, and they're just about to try to pull Logan forward so they can rejoin the rest of the crowd, when they see it.

Someone's being wheeled out on a stretcher.

But something isn't right.

There's no oxygen mask, or people rushing to get the injured person to the hospital, or anyone trying to administer any type of first-aid.

Logan's the first to understand. "Oh my God." He looks sick, like he might pass out at any moment. He sways a little and Kendall has to reach out to steady him.

"Logan? What's-?"

Kendall's question trails off as they continue to watch the scene unfold before them. There's a couple speaking to a doctor. The boys can't hear anything and they're too far away to see their facial expressions, but their body language… they look… distraught? A police officer speaks into a walkie-talkie and makes a note on a clipboard before gesturing to another officer standing with him in front of the person on the stretcher. The second officer zips the person inside a large bag and covers it with a sheet, shaking his head as he does so.

"Did someone-?" Kendall tries to speak again but he can't form the words.

"I think someone died," Logan whispers.

"What? Who?" Carlos cranes his neck, trying to see if he can gather more details.

"Let's get back to the group," James says, yanking Carlos along. "Maybe someone will tell us something."

"We should go find—we need to make sure it isn't…" Kendall doesn't want to say what he's thinking.

"We need to find the girls," Logan says for him, swallowing thickly.

The boys hurry towards where the other residents of the Palm Woods are gathered. By now there's a buzz going around that something bad has happened—this isn't just a normal fire drill, but the doctors are refusing to release details. Logan and the others push through the crowd, trying to find the girls. They find Lucy first, looks of relief washing over Carlos and James as they both go to embrace her.

"What's going on?" She's confused by their sudden show of affection.

"Something's wrong," Logan tells her quietly. "There's police and an ambulance and… I think… I think someone died."

Lucy's eyes widen. "What? How do you know?"

"I saw them zip a body bag," he explains. "Have you seen Camille and Jo?"

"You don't think it's-?"

"I don't know! I just want to make sure."

James and Kendall, being the tallest, peer over the tops of peoples' heads, trying to find the remaining two members of the group. On the bright side, they should be together since they're roommates. If they find one, they find both. Unless… But no, they won't allow themselves to think that way.

"Camille!" James spots her starts making his way toward her, weaving through people and leading Logan and the others to her and Jo.

Logan's demeanor relaxes slightly when he sees her and he slips his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. She's shivering underneath her thin sweater—there hadn't been enough time for her to locate her coat and grab it. Kendall takes a step toward Jo but stops himself from hugging her, remembering her aversion to physical contact. So it surprises him when she wraps her arms his waist quickly.

Their group is whole, thank God, and Logan and the boys fill the girls in on what they witnessed while Carlos was tying his shoe. They look around and notice that they aren't the only ones who've gathered automatically into their assigned groups. Sets of teenagers stand in huddles of seven to ten, whispering and craning their necks, wanting to know why they're standing outside in the middle of the night. Finally they see the ambulance and police cars start to leave, and doctors begin ushering them back into the building. They go through the lobby to the large cafeteria to sit and wait for someone to explain to them what's going on.

Logan's suspicions are proven correct when Dr. Jacobs, the facility director tells them that there has been an "accident" and that everyone's parents are currently being called. The Palm Woods is shutting down for the weekend while the police conduct an investigation. A low murmur immediately sweeps through the room as everyone looks around to try and find out who's missing.

It doesn't take long.

Only one group is missing a person, and they're sitting together in a corner. Some are crying, some just sitting, looking shell-shocked.

Her name was Lauren Murray. She was sixteen years old.

When the whispered name reaches Logan and the others, they sit in dumbfounded silence until Logan, always the first to put the pieces together, starts to understand what happened.

"We passed her in the hallway after dinner," he whispers. "When we went up to the roof. She was in the hall. She saw us go up there. She knew the door wouldn't be locked."

"What?" Kendall tries to make sense of what Logan's trying to say.

"She jumped," Logan states, emotions starting to rise. "She pulled the fire alarm on her way upstairs so someone would find her. She saw us go up on the roof and waited 'til later to go herself."

"Logan, you don't know that! You're just guessing."

"It all fits, Kendall! Why else would the fire alarm be going off at four AM?"

Kendall opens his mouth to argue some more but realizes he has nothing else to say. Is Logan right? …Isn't he always?

"Oh, fuck," Kendall mumbles. "Holy shit."

"This is so fucked up," James says softly.

"Stop. Just stop talking about it!" Jo looks seriously freaked out, wrapping her arms around herself. "We don't know anything yet!"

By now parents are starting to arrive, many looking panicked and worried as they sign out their children and take them home. Logan's mother hugs him tightly when she gets there, refusing to let go, as if by holding him she's sure that he really is there. Maybe it hits a little too close to home for her. Maybe she's thinking about how close she came to losing her own son.

He's too wound up to sleep when they get home, but he lies and tells Mrs. Mitchell he'll be fine. She turns out his light for him and shuts his bedroom door softly, leaving him alone.

* * *

><p>Camille sits quietly at the breakfast table with her father on Monday morning, having spent a weekend at home for the first time in weeks. She's eaten a bowl of cereal and a banana and is resisting the urge to go back upstairs and weigh herself one last time before going to school.<p>

She hasn't spoken to Logan or anyone else all weekend—she was still too freaked out to want to talk about it, and anyway, she doesn't want to confront the fact that what Logan said is probably true. Lauren Murray jumped off the roof of the Palm Woods, and the only reason she'd been able to was because she saw them go through the unlocked door after dinner.

Lauren Murray died, and it's their fault.

School is weirdly normal after what happened. Everyone walks down the hallway as usual, chatting about their weekends and talking about upcoming tests and trying to decide if and when it's too early to start shopping for prom dresses.

She wants to scream. Someone _died. _Doesn't anyone care?

The story had been on the news, of course, though no details had really been given out. Besides, Lauren Murray didn't even go to Oakmont. So even if her classmates had heard about it, it wasn't anyone they knew. As far as they were concerned, she was just some crazy girl who killed herself. Sad, but nothing to get too worked up over. Just something to gossip about until something else interesting happened.

When she goes into the cafeteria at lunchtime, she's only a little surprised to find Logan and the others all sitting together at one table. This has never happened before because up until now they've always been too concerned with trying to keep their school lives and their weekend lives separate. But with her and Logan getting closer, and the rumors about Kendall and James, it's becoming too hard to keep acting like they're different people. Especially for Camille. When she acts, she wants to play a character completely different from herself. She wants to throw herself into a role and forget about who she is for awhile. She doesn't want to have to act like a watered-down version of who she already is just to get to through the school day.

They're sitting quietly together, still looking shell-shocked from what happened. Carlos has new details to report.

"I eavesdropped on my dad talking about the case with the investigators," he explains in a low voice. "They found drugs on her. I don't know what it was, but the way they were talking about it, it sounds like what Logan said is exactly right. She took the drugs and went up on the roof, pulled the fire alarm, and jumped."

"Oh my God," Camille and Jo murmur simultaneously.

"How did she get drugs into the Palm Woods?" James asks. "They check our bags."

"But not our pockets," Lucy mumbles quietly.

Logan starts to say something but he's interrupted when Principal Malone comes up to their table.

"Carlos Garcia. I need to speak with you in my office."

"What? Why?" Carlos looks confused. "I haven't done anything!"

"There is a Detective Ramos here who would like you to answer a few questions regarding the investigation of the death of a girl called Lauren Murray." Principal Malone grips Carlos' arm and pulls him from the cafeteria, leaving the rest of the table to wonder why.

* * *

><p>After school, Lucy waits for Carlos in the park. Her fingers shake as she tries to light a cigarette, but she finally succeeds and sucks in a long drag, holding the smoke in her lungs and blowing it out slowly. She hopes he'll show up, but if he got in some kind of trouble with the police, who knows when she might see him again.<p>

Things have been… weird, to say the least, between her and Carlos. They never really talked about it, but she guesses he forgave her for sleeping with his best friend. He's speaking to her again, at any rate, and that's a start. She doesn't know what she'd do if he stayed mad at her. She doesn't like admitting that she needs other people, but Carlos… and James, Camille, Logan, Kendall, and Jo—they're more of a family to her than she's ever had before. And, well… fuck it. She needs them. All of them.

Lucy looks up when she hears footsteps, but it's not Carlos who approaches. It's James. He sits beside her silently and she offers him a cigarette. He takes one and her lighter and they sit there smoking, both thinking they should probably speak but not really knowing what to say.

"Are you waiting for him?" James finally asks, referring to Carlos.

"Yeah. I figured he'd stop by here after school. I just… want to make sure he's okay."

"What about you? Are you okay?"

"Are any of us really okay?" She returns.

"Touché. I can't—I can't believe she really did it, you know? I don't think I've ever spoken to her before. I keep wondering what was going through her head. I feel like… I feel like it's our fault."

"It's not our fault," Lucy says sharply. "It's no one's fault."

"We practically showed her the way out she was looking for."

"She killed herself, James! It's not like we led her up there and watched her go! We didn't know what she was thinking, alright? She would have found another way to do it sooner or later."

"Whoa, okay! Calm down, Luce. I'm just saying, I'm freaked out is all. I've never really known anyone who died."

"We're all freaked out. But we have nothing to do with it."

She finishes her cigarette and crushes it on the ground.

"I didn't mean to upset you," James tells her softly.

"I know. I'm sorry… I just—I don't know how to deal with this. It's screwed up beyond measure."

"We'll figure something out. We'll figure out a way to deal."

"I'm not so good with that sort of thing, if you hadn't noticed," Lucy says sarcastically.

She looks down at her arm, and James follows her gaze. There are no new scars or cuts, which James is glad for. He hopes she's finding better ways to channel her emotions—that she's not just suppressing things and let them build up inside her.

His phone rings loudly. He looks down at the screen, frowning down at it but not answering yet.

"Just—don't… don't hurt yourself, okay? Call me or something if you need to. Please."

Lucy nods, struck by his earnestness. He answers his phone and gets up to leave, talking in frustrated tones his mother, who is undoubtedly fussing over where he is and why he isn't home yet. Lucy stays in the park awhile longer, but Carlos never shows up.

* * *

><p>When he gets to school the next day, word is going around that Carlos was arrested and detained. He scowls at people whispering about him in the hallway—they don't know anything about the legal system. He was <em>questioned, <em>not arrested. Idiots.

At lunchtime, the group all sits together again, ignoring the stares coming from their classmates, which are more blatant than the day before. By now everyone's heard about Lauren Murray, and even more important, they've heard about Carlos' and the others' possible connection to it.

"They think I dealt her the drugs," Carlos announces when he sits down. "I didn't," he adds, before anyone can ask. "They're waiting for a toxicology report, but they're pretty sure she was wrecked when she jumped."

"Are you in trouble?" Camille asks.

"Nah. I didn't give her the drugs. They can't even prove I'm dealing to anyone, much less to her. They searched my locker and everything. And my mom and dad tore apart my bedroom looking for anything that would show I'm not a hundred percent on the straight and narrow."

"And they didn't find anything?" Kendall seems surprised. "How'd you pull that off?"

"Please, do you think I'd even be alive if they found anything? There's a reason I do all my business at the park. Though my mom was pretty shocked to find a box of condoms," he smirks.

The boys all grin appreciatively before returning to the subject at hand.

"But where could she have gotten the drugs from?" Logan wonders.

"It's not like I'm the only dealer in this town," Carlos tells him matter-of-factly. "Or even in this school."

"So what else did they ask you about?" James changes the topic.

"Well someone said they saw us in the hallway, so he asked what we were doing and I told the truth about how we went up on the roof and stuff, so… they'll probably want to talk to you guys too. But we're not in trouble," he adds quickly, seeing the sudden panic on everyone's faces. "They can't do anything to us. If anything, Lauren's parents will sue the Palm Woods for not making sure all the doors are locked at all times."

"I can't believe this is happening," Jo moans. "She lived across the hall from us! We saw her every weekend and…"

Her sentence trails off but she doesn't need to say it. Everyone's thinking the same thing. Could they have prevented it somehow? Could they have said anything, done anything, had they known, that would make her change her mind? Could they have helped her?

Camille grips Logan's hand underneath the table, and he can feel her trembling. He squeezes her lightly to reassure her that things are going to be fine, but he's not even sure he believes it himself. He glances down again at the scars that mar his wrists, thinking about Lauren Murray and what might have been going through her mind. He thinks back to that afternoon nearly two months ago, when he was home alone. He'd been feeling really shitty for a long time, and nothing seemed to make it better. His parents either couldn't or wouldn't see the pain he was in, and he couldn't burden his friends with his issues… he just felt that he had nowhere to turn and only saw one way out. He sat and stared at the razor blade sitting on his countertop and just thought… _this is it. _

He knew exactly where and how deep to cut. All he had to do was not chicken out. And he didn't. But his mother had come home early unexpectedly and ruined—no—saved him. He blacked out in her arms, his last conscious thought being, _I'm sorry. _Sorry for what, though, he didn't know. For not living up to her and Mr. Mitchell's expectations. For not being the son they wanted, even though he had no idea what kind of son that was. Maybe he was sorry he was making her find him like this, bleeding to death, literally, on the bathroom floor.

He thinks about how he told the others that once he'd decided to do it… it wasn't a good feeling, but he was just… certain. He was doing something for himself for once, twisted as that sounded, and the thought had comforted him. The day was his to choose, that's what he'd told them in therapy all those weeks ago. He can relate to Lauren Murray, and that scares him. She saw her way out, just like he had. She took her dare, only she didn't have anyone to step in and save her. Maybe she didn't even go up on the roof intending to kill herself. Maybe she just wanted to see if the view looked better from up there. But then… maybe she looked down at everything around her and saw her life flash before her eyes. Not her past, though. Her future. Maybe rather than face a lifetime of wondering if things would ever get better, she chose instead a moment of flying freedom.

* * *

><p>Carlos finds Lucy waiting for him in the park. She didn't tell him she was going to be there, or even that she wanted to speak with him, but he knows when something's on her mind. Not that she would tell him, since her usual mode of operation when she's upset is to avoid him. He doesn't know if it's because she doesn't trust him or because she trusts him too much. Is it even possible to trust someone too much? <em>Yes, <em>he thinks. Trusting someone too much is a sure-fired way to get your heart broken.

But wait. Who said anything about broken hearts? They're not… that's not what their relationship is. Is it? Just because they've hooked up a few times—okay, a lot of times—doesn't mean they were all emotionally connected and shit. But if that's true, Carlos reflects, why did it bother him so much when he found out about her and Wayne? It's a question he'd rather not get into at the moment, because it beings up feelings he's unprepared to decipher. He was never supposed to _have _feelings to decipher about her in the first place.

Lucy's sitting on a swing, swaying gently back and forth, looking off into the distance, and Carlos isn't even sure she's realized he's there until she finally looks him in the eye. He walks around behind her and pushes lightly on the small of her back. She lets the momentum carry her forward, sticking her legs out so her feet don't catch on the ground. She allows him to push her on the swing wordlessly for awhile before dragging her feet and coming to a stop.

He sits down next to her and she looks over at him, holding his gaze. "They were mine." Her voice cracks but she manages to get the sentence out.

Carlos looks at her confusedly. "What do—"

"The drugs. What they found on Lauren. They were mine. I gave them to her—sold them. I just—she—I ran into her in the bathroom and she asked me if I knew if anyone was carrying and I told her I was. It was right before curfew and I—I didn't know she—I wouldn't have given them to her if I had known—"

Her voice is getting more high-pitched as she becomes more distraught while she tells the story. She's shaking again and she's going to start crying until Carlos stands and pulls her toward him, engulfing her in a hug that she's too hysterical to return.

"It's my fault she died," she cries into his chest. "I—I don't know what—I didn't—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Carlos tries to calm her down. "You're okay."

"No, I'm not!"

"You didn't mean for it to happen!" Carlos shakes her a little bit to force her to focus on him. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"What's gonna happen to me when people find out?" She sniffs, finally looking at his face. He looks shocked, but he hasn't abandoned her and run for the hills, so that's sort of a plus.

"No one has to find out. I won't tell anyone, okay? Nothing's gonna happen to you." Carlos strokes her hair, soothing her until she finally stops trembling in his arms. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can," he says fiercely. "We just have to act normal until this all blows over!"

"What if I can't?"

"Listen to me. You're stronger than you think, okay? I know you are, even if you don't."

Lucy still seems unsure so Carlos does the only thing he can think of to let her know she's not alone.

He kisses her.

He tilts her shin up ever so slightly and leans in, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss unlike any other they've shared before. It's sweeter and softer than the usual heated ones that pass between them—the ones that only act as a prelude to the mindless hookups in backseats of cars or in bathrooms at parties. He takes her by surprise, but Lucy kisses him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as if to convince herself that he's really there, that he won't disappear as soon as she lets go.

Carlos pulls away and searches her eyes, looking for any sign that what he did wasn't okay. He's aware that they've now crossed a line and wonders if and how they can ever go back to before, and if he even wants to. Lucy's not like any girl he's ever met, and he wouldn't even know how to go about changing the nature of their relationship, especially not now when they've both got so much other shit going on.

They're broken out of their moment when a woman with three small children approaches the park. Two of them run straight toward Carlos and Lucy, who are still standing nose-to-nose in front of the swing set. They move out of the way so the kids can swing, pretending not to notice the disapproving look from the well-to-do woman who clearly thinks they're up to no good.

Lucy feels calmer when she gets home, happily noting that her stepfather has already passed out and won't bother her tonight. She's not hysterical anymore, but she still feels guilty for what happened, and nothing Carlos or anyone else says will convince her that she isn't to blame for Lauren Murray's death. It's more bearable when she's with people, because they can distract her from thinking about her. But here, in the privacy of her bedroom, there can be no escape. And she doesn't deserve one. She wants to feel the guilt, the pain, because it's the least she can afford after costing someone their life, isn't it? She lies in bed thinking of the razorblade kept in her side drawer, the one she promised herself she wouldn't use, promised James she wouldn't use.

She thinks back to how he told her to call him if she wanted to hurt herself, but how can she do that without then having to tell him why she wants to?

She calls him anyway and he answers quickly.

"_Lucy?"_

She doesn't really know what to say. "…Hi."

"_Hi… Are you okay?"_

"I don't… know."

"_Where are you?"_

"I'm at home. In bed."

"_At six o'clock?"_

"I… it's not a good day," she whispers.

"_Oh. Did you, um…?" _

"I didn't cut myself," Lucy tells him. "But I haven't ruled it out."

James sighs. In relief? It sounds relieved. _"Do you, um… do you need some company? Should I like, come over?" _

"No," she says quickly, thinking of her stepfather. He would not want to see her bring a boy home. It would only mean awful things for her. "No. I'm… fine. Just… talk to me for a bit. Please. About something normal."

"_Normal?"_ He laughs. _"Nothing about any of us is normal."_ But he tells her about his day, how he'd forgotten about a vocab test but he thinks he's done alright, how people are still looking at him weirdly because of the whole deal with Jett Stetson, Kendall, and Jo; and how his dad and stepmom have gone on an impromptu vacation, leaving him to deal with his mother 24/7.

She doesn't interrupt him or add much to the conversation, but he continues talking, hoping that maybe the sound of his voice will be enough for her to hang on to.

"Thank you," she says, when he finally finishes speaking.

"_Any time."_

When she clicks the phone off, she's still thinking about the blade that's so easily in reach. But it's easier than she thought it would be to push it away in her mind. Instead she reaches for a container of sleeping pills, taking out exactly one and swallowing it dry. She turns her back to the side drawer, waiting for the drowsiness to overtake her and finally falling into a deep, if not peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>And there it is. I really hope you're still enjoying the story. Stick with me, guys, and again I'm really sorry it took me so long! Thank you guys for readingreviewing/alerting and sending me stuff on Tumblr! Please please please review and tell me what you thought!**


	9. Save You Tonight

"_I think that's what's wrong with the world. No one says what they feel, they always hold it inside. They're sad, but they don't cry. They're happy, but they don't dance or sing. They're angry, but they don't scream. Because if they do, they feel ashamed. And that's the worst feeling in the world. So everyone walks with their heads down and no one sees how beautiful the sky is."_

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: Save You Tonight<p>

_All that you want's under your nose.  
>You should open your eyes, but they stay closed.<br>I wanna save you, wanna save your heart tonight…_

_I can't be no Superman, but for you, I'll be superhuman. _

* * *

><p>Lucy wakes up to two new text messages. One from Carlos. One from James. Both are similar in nature—they hope she's okay, they'll see her soon. Et cetera.<p>

As she gets ready for school, she replays her recent interactions with both boys in her mind. She's flitting back and forth between them, finally acknowledging that she needs both of them for support, and realizing for the first time that she might accidentally be playing with their emotions. Maybe she's too impulsive, or she's just unsure of what she feels. Either way, it's probably not a good thing that she's kissed both of them in the last month.

She never allowed herself to have any feelings for Carlos because of their arrangement. He liked her out of convenience, or so she thought, because, hey, she's Lucy Stone. Rocker chick. Weird hair girl. And school slut. She's heard it all and none of it bothers her. Carlos just wanted to hook up; she could deal with that. Because truth be told, she was using him, too, and not just for drugs. His body helped her forget, helped her push away the horrific memories of her stepfather advancing on her when her mother was out. As long as she had him, or whoever she happened to spend a night with, she could keep the scenes at bay.

She wonders if it's worth it that therapy has gotten her to recognize why she acts the way she does. Why takes the pills, why she keeps a razor blade in her nightstand, and yeah, why she sleeps around so much, jumping from guy to guy without caring about any of them. Knowing what the problem is doesn't make it go away. She still can't move past it.

She was fourteen the first time she was raped, and has to not only live with the man who did it, but also endure repeating the experience any time he feels like it. He stole her virginity, her innocence, and with it the belief that the act is supposed to be sacred. Her promiscuity is cause for concern, according to her therapist, because it reveals the underlying psychological issue at play: she doesn't believe her body is worth anything, so she'll give it to anyone.

She's a cliché. Low self-esteem and daddy issues. How typical.

But then James comes along and rescues her from yet another random one-night stand at a party and tells her she doesn't have to get with every guy that touches her—that she's allowed to say no and keep some things for herself. She might have believed that at one point, but after years of abuse at the hands of her stepdad, she's learned it's easier to not care than it is to try to fight.

Thinking about Carlos and James confuses her, so she decides to leave it alone for the time being. She has way too much on her plate right now to even consider whether she can be anything other than friends with either of them, despite how much she relies on them. How can she even think about being in a real relationship when she has her stepdad to contend with? It's not exactly a secret she'd be able to keep for long. And anyway, Jack would never allow her to belong to anyone else. She's his, and his alone. He reminds her of that every time he touches her.

Lucy's starting to understand why Jo stopped speaking after what happened with her and Jett Stetson. Why bother talking if no one can help you? And as much she wishes she could tell Jo that it gets better, that eventually she might be able to move on… well, Lucy knows better than anyone that it doesn't.

She sits with Carlos on the bus, as usual, smiling briefly at him and nodding tiredly when he asks if she's okay. It's hilarious to her that "how are you?" and "are you okay?" are always the first questions everyone in the group asks each other. As if any of them is ever really okay. None of them are, but asking anyway gives them some semblance of normality.

After second period, she goes into the girls' bathroom and locks herself in the corner stall. She's on the verge of deciding whether or not to skip her next class, enjoying the silence of the empty room, when the door opens. Whoever it is turns the tap on one of the sinks, probably washing her hands or splashing water on her face. Lucy decides to wait her out, thinking that whoever it is will leave soon. But the door opens again and two more girls come in, both chatting away until they notice the girl in front of the sink.

"I'm surprised you have the nerve to show your face," one girl comments nastily. "Considering all the lies you've been spreading."

"I mean, if I were you, I definitely would have considered switching schools now that everyone knows what a pathetic loser you are," says the second girl.

The girl by the sink says nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?" Asks the first girl. "Funny that you don't have anything to say now."

"Aw, don't be mean," the second girl interrupts, though her tone is still sarcastic. "To be fair, James is the one who started all this."

"True," girl number one says thoughtfully. "But he had to have gotten that story from somewhere. You want to know what I think? I think little miss southern belle here expected a little bit more than she got from Jett. Is that right, sweetie?"

Jo still refuses to say anything. Lucy wants to tell her to defend herself, but she knows it won't do any good. Jo has to want it for herself.

Girl one continues. "I think Blondie expected flowers and candy and a declaration of love, and when she didn't get it, she decided to get a little payback by telling her friend James that Jett took advantage of her."

"That must be what happened," laughs the second girl. "I guess Jo Taylor isn't as innocent as everyone thought. Too bad everyone's already on to you. Good luck if you think you can try to ruin Jett's reputation and not get anything back."

Lucy hears footsteps and the door opens again, leaving her alone with Jo. She unlocks her stall and steps out, finding Jo still rooted to her spot in front of the sink, a mixture of fear and despair in her eyes.

Jo looks up to see Lucy's reflection in the mirror and turns to face her, struggling to keep tears from falling.

"This is why I didn't want anyone to know," she whispers. "No one's going to believe me anyway."

Lucy purses her lips for a second. "Look… do you want to ditch with me? Just until lunch."

"I don't know. Won't we get into some kind of trouble?"

"What's life without a few detentions here and there? You in or what?"

"I guess so." Jo bites her lip, looking worried. But she has no desire to go to class and face her tormentors, so ditching with Lucy seems like a good enough plan as any.

Lucy leads her outside, around the back of the school where the school buses are parked. It's pretty deserted, since it's the middle of the day, and the only sounds are rustling of the leaves in the cool wind and the occasional twittering of the birds. Across the parking lot they can see the soccer fields and beyond that, the football field, all of which are empty at this time of day. They sit against the brick wall and Lucy takes out a cigarette, more from habit than actual desire to smoke.

"When we lived in North Carolina, my mom was the choir director at our church. She used to make me sing in every pageant and church program we had." Jo stares off into the distance, a faraway look on her face as she recalls her past. "My dad wasn't really big on going to church, but my mom was, so he went to make her happy. I even went to Sunday school every weekend."

Lucy continues to sit next to her and smoke her cigarette, not really sure where Jo's story is headed.

"I used to think I'd grow up, meet someone in high school or college maybe, and we'd get married and have this beautiful wedding at my church, and I'd have the white dress—everything, you know? He'd be the perfect guy, and I'd be able to tell him on our wedding night that he was the first and only person I'd ever _be_ with." Jo pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs her body, shoulders slumping. "I wanted to wait 'til I was married. It was supposed to _mean _something. It was supposed to be special."

"It can still mean something," Lucy tries. "What he did to you… that doesn't count as _being _with you." This may have been a bad idea. She doesn't do girl-talk. She has limited experience with female interactions that don't involve slapping or hair-pulling.

"Doesn't it?" Jo asks miserably. "I mean, what did I expect would happen if I went upstairs with him? That we'd just talk and he'd fall in love with me, and we'd live happily ever after? I shouldn't have led him on like that."

"Listen to me," Lucy says fiercely, gripping Jo's shoulder and forcing her to look her in the eye. "What happened is not your fault. You might have made a mistake, but that doesn't excuse him for _his _actions, okay? He's perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and he chose to do the wrong thing."

"But I'm still the one that put us in that situation in the first place. No one's going to believe I didn't want it."

"Screw what everyone else believes. You know the truth. And so does he, no matter how much he denies it. He knows he's wrong. Otherwise he wouldn't be putting so much effort into turning people against you."

"I just… I know it shouldn't bother me what other people think, but I've never really had to deal with people not liking me before. But it bothers me that everyone's judging me based on something that's not even true. God, I sound conceited."

"It's not your fault you're popular," Lucy snorts. "Of course you've always been liked. You're pretty _and _nice _and _smart. Hardly anyone is all three. It's usually a two-out-of-three deal."

She succeeds in getting Jo to crack a smile. "Thanks. My ego needed that boost."

"I just know how you feel," Lucy shrugs. "I know what it's like having to live with something that you feel like no one can understand."

"Yeah," Jo murmurs. "Is that why you…?" She glances down at Lucy's arm, nodding at the scars that she doesn't even bother trying to hide anymore.

Lucy looks down, too. Some of the scars, she can specifically remember the nights that caused them. The nights when Jack was especially awful to her. But others, the majority of them, actually, she can't recall. Her cutting became kind of a ritualized behavior—it was just an automatic response to any stress or depression or emotional pain.

"Can I tell you something?"

Jo nods.

"I know how you feel… because I—I, um. It happened to me too."

"You mean… you were-? When? Who?"

"When I was fourteen." Lucy finishes the cigarette and puts it out on the ground, flicking it away from her and Jo. "That was when I started… hurting myself." She doesn't seem willing to reveal any more details, so Jo doesn't push her on it.

"I had no idea," she says softly.

"I've never really told anyone."

"Never? _Anyone_? After all this time?"

"It always seemed pointless," Lucy shrugs. "I knew nothing anyone said would be able to help."

"Maybe someone can."

"It's complicated," she replies.

"Everything is these days."

* * *

><p>Jo stops at her locker before study hall, intending to retrieve a notebook so she can try to get some work done. Usually she keeps her locker very neat, but lately she hasn't cared about that, so she has to sift through wadded up paper and other junk that she would normally take the time to put away properly. She finally finds what she's looking for, but before she has a chance to shove it into her bag, someone bumps into her hard from behind, and her belongings tumble out of her arms and onto the floor.<p>

"Sorry," comes a voice from behind her. It's one of the girls from the bathroom earlier, and she has a faked look of concern on her face. "Didn't see you there." The girl smirks and continues on her way, leaving Jo to gather up her things.

When she gets to study hall, she sits with Kendall and James in their usual corner away from Mercedes Griffin and everyone else who whispers about them behind their backs. The trio works silently through the period—or, Jo does, at least, while James and Kendall play a quiet but spirited game of paper football, holding in their enthusiasm so as not to incite the wrath of Ms. Shipley.

When the bell rings for the end of the day, the three start getting ready to leave, but Jo remembers that she needs to look for a book for a paper she has to write. James has to get going; his mother's gone on this crazy rampage of making sure he sticks to this ridiculous schedule so she can be sure he won't get into any trouble. Kendall offers to wait and walk her home.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Go ahead and go to your locker. I'll meet you there. I just need to find one thing, it shouldn't take me long."

Kendall and James leave with the rest of the students hurrying to get out of the library, but Jo heads to a computer to look up the placement of the book she needs. The old desktop takes several eternities to load the information she's looking for, but she finally succeeds and heads toward the back wall to find the title.

She's studying the shelves intently, and so doesn't hear anyone coming up behind her.

"What'cha looking for?" Asks the voice casually.

Jo freezes. _No. _She turns slowly to face him, a mixture of hatred and fear coursing through her as he leans nonchalantly against a bookshelf, smirking down at her as if he doesn't notice her discomfort. She stands perfectly still, not daring to move or speak, hoping he'll get bored and leave her alone before she completely panics. She knows they're in public, in broad daylight, on school property, with an adult in the building, but she's still terrified to be this close to him. Alone.

"Heard you've been having a pretty rough time lately," Jett says. "Girls can be so mean sometimes, huh?"

_Please go away, _she thinks. _Leave me alone. _

"I could help you out, you know," he continues.

Help her? Why would he do that?

"But you would have to do something for me in return."

Her eyes widen. What on earth could he possibly want from her?

"It's pretty simple, really. All you have to do is admit that you're lying. You do that and I'll tell everyone to back off."

Jo inhales sharply, making a noise for the first time since Jett showed up. She whirls around, preparing to walk away from him but he grabs a hold of her arm and spins her back around to face him.

"What is your problem, Taylor? I don't get you. We had some fun, didn't we?"

Jo snatches her arm back from Jett's grasp and steps back. "Fun?" She hisses. "You think what you did to me was _fun_?"

Jett chuckles amusedly, ignoring her anger, which only infuriates her more. "The night of the party—what did you go there to do? Who did you go to see? Me. Don't bother denying it; Mercedes already told me that. Everyone there that night saw a girl who wanted it. And you got it. So here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna tell your little boyfriends Knight and Diamond to leave me the fuck alone, got it? Everyone already thinks you're a liar and a psycho. So do yourself a favor and just tell everyone you lied. In return, I'll make sure no one bothers you."

When she doesn't say anything, Jett smirks at her again and turns his back on her to walk away.

"No."

He pauses and looks back at her. "What did you say?"

"I said 'no.' I'm not lying, and you know it."

Jett's face becomes angry and he advances on her, causing Jo to back up until she hits a wall. Jett rests his hand on the wall, leaning down so his face his nearly nose-to-nose with hers. "You're going to be sorry."

But then suddenly someone is pulling Jett away from her and throwing him to the floor. "What the fuck, Stetson?"

Kendall turns to Jo. "Are you alright?"

She nods silently, watching as Jett quickly gets to his feet.

"Back off, Knight. This is between me and her."

"Bullshit," Kendall spits. "You're even dumber than you look if you think I'm going anywhere." He wants so badly to shove Jett into the wall, punch him—anything to cause him even a fraction of the pain Jo must feel every time she has to see him. But he knows better than to start a fight on school grounds—in the library, no less—so he guesses it's a good thing James didn't see what was going on here, or blood would definitely be flying by now.

"Leave it, Kendall. We're done here," says Jo.

"We're not," Jett cuts in.

"Let me put it like this. _I'm _done here. I'm done with you. The last thing I have to say to you is this: leave me and my friends alone. Don't talk to me. Don't talk about me. And stop your bullshit about James and Kendall being gay. Or _you'll _be the sorry one when I tell everyone what really happened that night."

She shoves past a stunned Jett, with Kendall following quickly behind her, glancing back as Jett stands there glaring after them.

"Where did that come from?" Kendall asks, shocked. "I don't think I've ever heard you say so many words at once."

"I'm tired of this. He doesn't get to act like I'm the one inconveniencing him. He—I made a mistake with him that night—but he made a choice, too. And we both have to live with them. Not just me."

* * *

><p>When Jack leaves Lucy's room, it takes awhile before she can make herself move. She waits until she hears his truck engine rev up, knowing that now that he's done with her, he'll be going to the bar and staying out late. He'll stumble home sometime after 2 am and promptly pass out.<p>

If she's lucky, he'll get into in a drunk-driving accident and hit a tree.

As is her norm, she rips her sheets off the bed and peels off the clothes that he didn't bother to tear off of her, leaving everything in a pile in the corner of her room before turning on her shower and sitting in the tub, letting the scalding water hit her back. She breathes in deeply, resting her forehead on her knees and trying not to look at the scars on her arms and legs, because looking at them makes her want to add more. And she promised James she would try to stop.

The water's almost too hot for her to stand, but she needs the burn of it on her skin to make her focus on the present so she doesn't relive everything that just happened. It's almost like a form of self-punishment for allowing herself to go through this. She doesn't even resist Jack anymore when he comes to her. Just lets him do what he wants, takes his orders, and waits for him to leave her alone. How sick must she be to let this happen?

When the water starts to run cold, she turns off the tap and dries herself off, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror because she doesn't want to see the vacant, hollow look that must be in her eyes.

She needs to do something, anything, to take her mind off things because if it's not one shitty thing it's another. As if having to deal with Jack isn't enough, she also has no idea what to do about the fact that she's pretty much directly responsible for the death of Lauren Murray. Her conscience tells her she should confess that she dealt the drugs, but her sense of self-preservation is much stronger than her conscience. Always has been. She looks out for herself because God knows no one else will.

Lucy sends a text and gets dressed before dumping her sheets into the washing machine, knowing that a thousand runs through the hot water cycle will never make them feel clean enough to be comfortable. When her phone beeps with a reply she smiles to herself and opens up her side drawer, taking out her small bag of pills and popping one into her mouth, swallowing it with a swig of the vodka she keeps in her room.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

* * *

><p>James is surprised to receive the message from Lucy. He knows something's up with her, but she won't let him in on it. He types a reply and sends it, frowning thoughtfully, wondering if there's anything he can do to get her to open up.<p>

He doesn't know what it is about her… He's James _Diamond. _Lucy Stone is not his 'type' by any stretch of the imagination. He usually goes for the cheerleader-type girls. The girls who are pretty but not very deep; the ones who care about things like popularity and their looks and whether Justin Bieber will ever break up with that Selena bitch. Maybe that's why he finds Lucy so interesting. She's so… not like other girls. She doesn't care what anyone thinks. And he can't figure her out, even though they've been in group together for weeks and weeks. Even when he knew she was hooking up with Carlos in their room at the Palm Woods, there was something that made him want to understand her. Something that attracted him to her.

The party after the big hockey game only confused him even more. She'd kissed him right on the lips before disappearing inside, leaving him stunned on her doorstep. It was maybe the first and only time he'd ever felt like a kiss meant something other than 'I'm about to get to laid.' But she acted like it never happened, or like it wasn't a big deal, and maybe it wasn't, but it still threw him off. He's not used to being the one who cares more.

Lucky for him, his mother had an emergency business trip she couldn't get out of, so James has the house to himself for a couple of days, what with his dad being out of town and all. So when Lucy said she could use some company, he invited her over without hesitation. He's not really sure what he's expecting from this visit, but the main thing is that she's reaching out for help. And so he'll do whatever he can if it means she's not going to hurt herself anymore.

He quickly throws his dirty clothes into a laundry basket and stores it in the closet and does a quick sweep of his room to make sure it doesn't look too terrible, trying to ignore how sweaty his palms are and how his heart is beating faster than it normally does.

_Chill out, Diamond, _he tells himself. _Don't be so nervous. _

But this is such new territory for him, he can't help it. James Diamond likes a girl. As in, he actually _likes _her. He's interested in her as an actual person—not because she's hot, or because he might get laid, or because she flirts with him and laughs at his jokes. For the first time, he's interested in a girl because of _her, _and not what he can get out of her.

What's he supposed to do about that? He's not really the relationship type, or at least, that's what he's always told himself and his friends and the numerous girls he's gone out with. Everyone knows not to give their heart to James Diamond, because he will inevitably break it. He doesn't do it on purpose. He's not trying to be a dick. But with his parents' nasty divorce and the shitty breakups he's seen his friends go through… he just never really believed in the concept of being 'in love.' He thinks people can enjoy each other's company, but it's probably not going to last. Nothing wrong with that. Plenty of fish in the sea.

But suddenly along comes Lucy Stone, and James is questioning everything he ever thought he knew about himself. And that's a scary predicament.

When the doorbell rings, he goes to open the door, finding Lucy on his front porch, finishing a cigarette. Her fingers are trembling, but whether from cold or something else, he isn't sure. Something's off about her. Something he can't define. She looks normal, with her mostly black clothes and her boots and her chipped nail polish… so what's wrong with her?

"Hey. Come in."

Lucy stamps out her cigarette and follows him inside, looking around the big house that she's never been in before.

"Mom's out of town and you're not throwing a party? What kind of teenager are you?" Lucy teases him, shrugging off her jacket and laying over the side of the couch.

"I don't exactly have many friends to invite over these days," he replies easily. "You want something to drink or anything?"

"Brought my own." Lucy digs into her bag and pulls out a water bottle that has the label ripped off, unscrewing the cap and taking a quick swallow. "I come prepared."

She holds the bottle out to him, and he sniffs it cautiously. "Vodka?"

"As usual."

James hesitates a second but takes a swig after a moment. He cringes as it burns his throat and hands the bottle back to Lucy, who takes another mouthful before capping it.

"So I guess we'll make it our own party."

"Sounds fun," he grins. He goes over to his mom's liquor cabinet and rummages through it, picking a bottle he knows she won't miss and a can of soda from the refrigerator to chase it with.

"So, do I get a grand tour, or what?"

"Uh, sure," he says, hiding his confusion from her. What's she doing here? He thought she wanted to talk, but she seems intent on acting like this is just a friendly visit. Plus, he realizes, she's probably a little drunk and maybe buzzed off something else too. But he knows her well enough to know pushing her will only chase her off.

He shows her his mom's office, the kitchen, the dining room, and the back porch that overlooks their large pool, and she nods politely whenever he tells her some random tidbits, like that the floors are real wood, or that the pool has salt-water instead of chlorine. They both sip from their bottles, and before he knows it, James is starting to feel the warm light-headedness from the liquor.

"Too bad it's still cold," Lucy comments. "We could go swimming."

"You really want to? It's a heated pool."

Lucy smirks at James. "Of course it is, rich boy. I should have guessed."

"One of the perks of being a Diamond," he says sarcastically.

"So let's go."

She walks purposefully past him and pulls off her shirt without hesitation, dropping it to the ground near the edge of the pool before sliding her jeans down her legs. She turns around to find him staring at her with his mouth slightly open.

"You coming?"

It isn't until she turns back around and jumps into the pool that James snaps out of it. He yanks off his own shirt and pants and follows her into the warm water, laughing when she comes up for air, and doing his best not to stare too hard at the water droplets running down her body.

"I was surprised you texted me," James tells her.

"You told me to tell you when I feel like hurting myself," she replies with no emotion. "Expect to be hearing from me a lot."

"Something's wrong, isn't it? Something more than usual, I mean." He sits down on the stair-step and looks at up her questioningly.

"Don't you know me by now? Something's always wrong, Jamie-boy."

"You can tell me, you know."

Lucy shakes her head back and forth, standing in front of James and looking down at his concerned face. "Nuh-uh. That's not the deal."

"What's the deal, then?" James asks, confused.

"I tell you when I want to hurt myself, and you distract me. That's it."

"Fine. How am I doing so far?"

She tilts her head to one side, smirking at him again before stepping forward and cupping his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his in a searing kiss that nearly makes him forget where he is.

"So far, so good."

She straddles his lap, pressing him against the pool wall and connecting their mouths again, this time tangling her fingers in his wet hair and rocking her hips against his. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer into his lap so that their stomachs and chests are connected. She slips her tongue into his mouth and grips his shoulders for leverage as she moves against him, causing a friction between them that they can't and won't ignore for long.

"Lucy—" James pulls away to catch his breath and look into her eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

Lucy stares at him for a moment and he briefly thinks she might actually get up and leave. She stares at him for a moment before whispering in his ear. "You want to help me, right?" She kisses the side of his neck and leaves a hot trail down to his collarbone while she waits for him to respond.

"Y-yeah," he answers. "Of course." His voice is shaky and his breath is shallow, his body betraying the good intentions he's trying to display.

"Then help me forget."

They're both a little drunk, and she's clearly not entirely emotionally stable, and truth be told neither is he, but _fuck_, her body just feels so good against his. She kisses him again and this time he gives in completely, kissing her back as fiercely as she's kissing him, fighting with her for dominance as his hand snakes around her back to undo the clasp of her bra. In expert fashion he slips it off her, flinging it somewhere near the edge of the pool and bringing his hand back to massage her breasts underneath the warm water. He kneads them slowly, pinching the hard buds of her nipples, sending a shiver down her spine that causes her rock into him again.

He groans at the contact and moves his hand lower, slipping beneath her panties to rub her slick center. She moves against his fingers, encouraging him to keep going, so he quickly hooks his thumb under the band to pull them off, sliding the underwear slowly down her legs and switching positions so that she is now the one pinned against the wall. He licks a spot on her neck below her ear and bites down on it, causing her to release a sound that's something between cry of pain and a moan. His fingers find their way south again, teasing her clit while he works on her neck.

"_Fuck_," she mumbles. "Oh, God."

He silences her incoherent mutterings with another kiss before moving just slightly farther down to push two fingers into her entrance, pumping them swiftly in and out of her while she bucks against him, desperate to intensify the already powerful feeling between them.

"Come on, you're almost there," he grunts, using his other hand to pinch her breasts again.

With a gasp and a shudder, Lucy clenches around his fingers and shivers as she rides her orgasm out, but she's given no recovery time because James is kissing her again, moving his body against hers in the pool, the water lapping up around them. She moves her own hands down to the waistband of the boxers that he still has on and shoves them down so he can step out of them. She strokes his now-prominent erection, running her thumb over the sensitive tip, causing him to inhale sharply.

He braces her against the wall and she wraps her legs around him as he slides into her forcefully. His thrusts are hard and fast, the water sloshes around them, and they barely notice on account of their ragged breathing and moans of pleasure. Lucy feels the buildup between her legs again, and can't help letting out little cries of pleasure every time James pushes into her.

"Harder," she breathes.

She's so close, so so close, and she doesn't care that her back is pressed painfully against the wall or that James must have noticed just how many scars she really has. All that matters is the release, and this moment with him when she's actually able to not think about Jack, or Lauren Murray, or what she's doing to him and Carlos. James takes her advice and thrusts into her faster than before, gripping the edge of the pool wall for support.

"So—good—ah, fuck," he grunts.

Lucy digs her nails into his back, surely leaving some angry red marks that will be there in the morning, but he doesn't care about that because she's gasping his name, coming again, and he finally lets go, spilling his fluid inside her before going still, breathing hard and not moving away from her for several seconds.

* * *

><p>Lucy wakes up in the middle of the night with her head spinning, wondering what aroused her from her sleep. She and James never even made it up to his room, instead spending the night on the couch in the living room. They'd gone back inside to dry off and get warm, getting dressed only to give in to each other again, exploring their bodies in a haze of more liquor and pills produced from Lucy's bag.<p>

He looks so much younger when he's sleeping, she thinks. So peaceful. Innocent. Like he hasn't got a care in the world. Their limbs are tangled together and her head rests on his chest while she enjoys the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath her.

She moves slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb him, being sure to cover him back up with the sheet he took out from the linen closet. She's wearing a t-shirt of his and a pair of his gym shorts that must be from middle school, and even so, they hang loosely on her. She steps out onto the back porch with her purse, taking out her nearly empty pack of cigarettes and lighting one with shaky fingers.

The sun's barely starting to come up over the horizon and she realizes she has to get home. It's still a school day, after all, and even if it wasn't, what else would she do? She has to flee before he wakes up, has to get out of there before he looks at her and regrets what happened, or asks her what she's still doing there. They aren't some cute couple who can bask in their post-coital bliss. She goes to gather her clothes, which still lay in a heap near the edge of the pool, and shoves them into her bag before sneaking quietly back inside to put on her jacket. She takes one last look at James sleeping on the sofa and can't resist kissing his forehead before slipping out the front door, still wearing his clothes, the hollow look back in her eyes again.

* * *

><p>Jo sits in her English class, head down, tapping her pen against her blank notebook. The question on the board that she's supposed to be answering swims in front of her: <em>Is it okay to disturb the universe?<em>

She looks at her classmates around her, all writing frantically, trying to finish up before their teacher calls time on the assignment. The assignment has stemmed from their completion of reading _The Chocolate War, _in which the main character defies the social structure of his school in order to assert his independence from the bullies and popular kids who run everything. When the timer for the assignment goes off, Jo scribbles a single phrase onto her paper: _Only if it's worth it. _

"Does anyone want to share their thoughts?" Asks Mrs. Robinson.

No one volunteers, of course, but Jo happens to look up and catch her teacher's eye.

"Jo? What do you think?"

"Oh—I, um—I don't know," she stutters. She hopes that Mrs. Robinson will move on from her and ask someone else, but the teacher persists in making Jo articulate her thoughts on the assignment.

"What did you write down? Is it okay to disturb the universe?"

"Only if it's worth the trouble it brings," Jo says quietly.

"And what did you mean by that?"

"Just that—you have to know what you're getting into," she answers slowly. "In the book, Jerry picked something that seemed really trivial, and made it a big deal. And in the end he came to the conclusion that disturbing the universe wasn't worth the pain it brought him. He's left without hope, and the people he was fighting against face no consequences."

"So you don't think he did the right thing by standing up for himself?"

"I think he did do the right thing, but Jerry himself doesn't know it."

"Explain," Mrs. Robinson smiles encouragingly.

"He's a character who at first only wants to fit in, so he does what the popular kids tell him, knowing they can make him miserable if he doesn't comply. But soon he realizes that he's miserable anyway. So he decides that if he's going to be miserable, it might as well be on his own terms. In the end he feels like it was pointless to go against everyone, because nothing changed. The popular kids still run everything, the teachers do nothing to stop it, and he's still an outcast. But it wasn't pointless, because he took a stand for something he believed in. He lost the battle, but maybe his battle sparked a war."

"That's very insightful, Ms. Taylor."

When the bell rings, everyone gathers up their things and heads out the door, and Jill, one of her bathroom tormentors, makes a point of once again bumping into her and knocking her things out of her hands.

"Sorry," she says, no trace of apology in her voice or expression. She kneels down to pick up Jo's notebook while Jo scrambles to shove the rest of her things into her bag. "You think you're so smart, don't you?"

Jo freezes and meets Jill's eyes. She says nothing.

"You can't win," Jill tells her. "You said it yourself. You're going to be miserable; we'll make sure of it. If you fight this battle, you—will—lose. So you might as well give up."

"What are you-?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what Jett, and everyone else, wants. So tell the truth, if you know what's good for you." She slides Jo's notebook to her, her perfectly manicured nails catching Jo's eye for an instant before she straightens up and walks away without another backward glance.

When Jo gets to the cafeteria for lunch, she sits with her friends, wordlessly eating her meal and not paying attention to the conversations happening around her. She sits between Kendall and Camille, staring thoughtfully down at her food, looking up when Jett walks by with Mercedes Griffin and her gang of cheerleaders. They all sneer at Jo and the others, as if their very presence in the cafeteria offends them. Jo squirms in her seat uncomfortably.

"You're quiet today," Kendall comments.

"Just thinking about… some things."

"Like what?"

Jo takes a deep breath and looks around the table, seeing that everyone is waiting for her to speak.

"I want to press charges against Jett."

Camille squeezes her hand under the table. "Really?"

"Yeah," Jo nods. "I've been thinking about it ever since the library thing. I'm tired of being threatened. I'm tired of being called a liar."

"Good for you," Kendall smiles. "Make that asshole pay."

"I plan to," she says, determined. "I want to scare him. I want him to know that he can't do that to me or anyone else and get away with it."

"What changed?" James asks. "Before you were so... you just wanted to forget it."

"I just... I think I realized that pretending it didn't happen wasn't helping me cope. And," she glances at Lucy quickly, "maybe if say something now, it'll help other people who need to get help too."

James notices her look at Lucy, who is staring steadfastly down at her lunch. He'd woken up to find her gone, but he wonders now whether he should have expected anything else. He's determined not to make it awkward if she plans to pretend that nothing happened, but it's going to be hard being around her every day while trying to understand and deal with his feelings for her.

"Won't it be hard?" Camille asks Jo.

"Yes," she admits. "I'll have to tell my parents. And talk to lawyers. But I think-I hope-it'll be worth it."

"You're doing the right thing," Kendall adds. "And we'll be behind you every step of the way, right?"

Everyone nods their assent, even Lucy, and Jo feels hopeful for the first time in months that she'll really be able to find the strength to move past this.

* * *

><p><strong>And another chapter done! Hope you guys liked it, and as always please drop a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me! <strong>


	10. With You Around

"_I wish I could promise it'll be alright in the end. I can't. But we can make now alright. We have to." –Lori Grimes, The Walking Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: With You Around<p>

_All my life, I looked for you  
>For arms that I could fall into…<em>

_I'm right here, so don't get blue.  
>It's not just you, I need this too…<em>

_I was falling hard; you were barely hanging on._

* * *

><p>Carlos has just finished conducting some "business" in the park when Lucy shows up. He had a feeling she'd come out here sooner or later. He just had to decide whether or not he wanted to stick around. Because he knows what she wants to talk about, what she wants to say to him but hasn't yet because she didn't want to hurt his feelings. His chest tightens as he counts the money in his hands, but he ignores the feeling and tucks the bills into his wallet. Lucy approaches silently, looking a little lost.<p>

"Business is good," she comments, trying to find a way to start conversation.

"It always is during midterms," Carlos shrugs. "People get stressed out. Want to relax. Or the smart kids come around looking for stuff to keep them focused."

"I can't imagine any Logan-types coming around trying to find drugs."

"You'd be surprised," he replies. "The Logan-types are a significant market that can't be ignored."

"You sound like a business owner," Lucy snorts.

Carlos smiles and glances at her, watching the way she hugs her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, as if trying to protect herself from the rest of the world. She stares quietly into the distance, thinking about something, and knowing her, it could be anything. If pressed, Carlos would say he knows Lucy pretty well, but he's not delusional enough to think she's let him in on all of her secrets. He knows that she loves spicy Pad Thai and her favorite color is red (hence, her hair), that her favorite movie of all-time is The Breakfast Club, and that—when she's sober—she likes to listen to Kings of Leon before bed. But he couldn't tell you a thing about her childhood, or her what her family's like, other than her grandmother, who she loves more than anyone in the world. He couldn't tell you why she first picked up a razorblade and thought it would numb whatever pain she was going through, or how old she was when she smoked her first joint. But what he does know is that no matter what she says or how she acts, she needs help. And he's willing to give it to her, if she'll let him.

"So what's up?" Carlos asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you know you only come out here when you want to see me or have something to tell me. So, what's up?"

"I… I just—I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Lucy says. "Sometimes I think I can hold it together, and then something happens that makes me feel like all of it's pointless. Like nothing I do will ever be good enough."

"You want to talk about her, don't you?" He asks softly. "Lauren Murray."

"I don't know," Lucy whispers. "I don't even really want to think about her… but I have to. It feels wrong not to."

"We didn't kill her. You know that right? What she did… _she _did it. You need to stop blaming yourself," he tells her.

"I know _we _didn't kill her. _I _did. How can I not blame myself? It's my fault."

"Luce... I know you feel bad, but you can't put the whole thing on yourself. If anything, I'm just as responsible as you are. I was the one with the idea to go on the roof in the first place. And…"

"And what?"

Carlos looks down at her, watching her stare at the ground. "You gave her the drugs, sure. But did you really think I didn't realize where _you _got them from? Come on. I know I'm the only person you've bought from this year."

Lucy glances up and meets his gaze briefly but doesn't hold it. She chews on her bottom lip and tangles her fingers through her long hair, distressed. "Doesn't matter. That doesn't help. I still… I feel sick to my stomach _all the time. _I feel fucking _terrible. _I feel like shit. And I can't do anything except… feel it."

Carlos wraps an arm around her protectively, unable to think of anything helpful to say. She leans into him, grateful for the contact and looks up at him one more time. He's still watching her, and her heart starts beating fast when she sees that he's moving closer. He rests his forehead against hers, hesitating to make sure she wants this too. Her eyes flutter closed and she breathes in his scent, so he closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. She brings her hand up to his cheek, kissing him back, losing herself in the moment and getting caught up in the fact that she's supposed to be stopping this. She's supposed to quit going back and forth between Carlos and James.

But how? They make her head swim and they both make her feel _worth_ something, they make her feel like she's wanted and loved, which isn't something she's felt very often in her eighteen years. Carlos makes her feel safe when she's with him, always has, like nothing can get to her and nothing matters. Like he could stop the world if she wanted him to. Not that she'd ever ask that of him, but the thought is nice. Comforting. But then there's James, who challenges her, makes her think, and helps her find strength from within. After all, it's because of him that she hasn't been cutting herself,even though it's really the only way she's ever known how to deal with pain, how to feel in control of something in her life.

So what is she supposed to do? She needs both of them—they're so similar yet so different that she can't imagine choosing one over the other, yet she knows that she can't go on like this for much longer. It's only a matter of time before she causes some sort of confrontation between them, and then everything will be ruined. Whether she chooses one or the other or neither, someone or all three of them will be hurt, and it'll affect not only them, but everyone else as well. She can't afford to let this get out of hand.

Unfortunately, she's running out of time.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," a voice calls out. He sounds casual, but when Lucy looks up she can see the thinly veiled hurt in his eyes. An instant later, he blinks and shakes his head, adopting his usual James Diamond swagger, and she can't even be sure she saw the look at all.

"Hey." Carlos and James bump their fists in greeting, and James takes a seat on the ground on the other side of Lucy, who mumbles a hello but avoids making eye contact.

She automatically reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes, lighting one up and inhaling the smoke. She lets it out slowly, careful not to blow it in anyone's face, before offering the pack out to the boys. Carlos takes one but James declines.

"What brings you out here?" Carlos asks, looking over Lucy's head to James.

"Camille caught me after school. She has to get home, but she asked me to bring you this." James pulls a small orange pill container from the pocket of his coat, handing it over to Carlos. "She said you could pay her later."

"Sweet. Thanks." Carlos tucks the bottle away and rests his arm back around Lucy's shoulders. She stiffens slightly and glances at James, who seems not to notice.

"It's cool about Jo, huh?" James comments. "I hope that dick goes to jail for what he did."

"He will," Carlos says optimistically. "He has to."

"I have to go," Lucy announces abruptly, shrugging Carlos' arm off of her. "See you guys tomorrow."

She doesn't offer further explanation; she just stands and brushes dirt off her jeans, stooping to pick up her bag and leaves the two boys in the park to stare after her as she heads for home. She can't sit there with them any longer, like everything is normal—like they're just three friends enjoying the day. There is nothing normal about her or her relationships with them, or even theirs with each other. It's too fucked up even to try to explain, and the thought of sitting there between them, knowing what she's doing to them, is too much.

"Something is seriously fucking her up," James says when she turns a corner. "I don't know what it is, but she's been a wreck ever since the Lauren Murray thing."

"She feels guilty," Carlos murmurs. "Because she—er, we—went up on the roof." He decides against telling him the real reason she feels so responsible, thinking that if she wants to share it with him, she'll do it on her own time.

"She tells you a lot." James can't stop the hint of jealousy from showing in his voice. He rips up a bit of grass from underneath his palm, just to have something to occupy his hands.

Carlos watches James for a minute before speaking again. "You like her." It isn't a question.

The taller boy freezes his motions. After a moment, he continues. "Yeah. And so do you."

Neither boy denies it.

"So what do we do about it?" Carlos asks. "It's not like we can both date her."

"That'd be weird. Even for us," James snorts. "But no. She has to choose for herself."

"We can't make it a competition, though," Carlos says seriously. "You—I like her, but… you're my best friend, you know. And I don't want whatever happens to come between us. I don't want us to end up hating each other."

"You just want to help her right? For her to be happy?"

Carlos nods.

"That's all I want, too. And whether she gets it from me or you doesn't matter. Either way… you're still _my_ best friend too."

* * *

><p>Jo and Kendall walk side-by-side down the street as they make their way towards her house. Kendall's taken to walking her home every day after school both because he doesn't like the idea of her being alone and vulnerable, and also because he likes having an excuse to spend time with her alone. She's gotten so much better lately; she doesn't flinch when he accidentally brushes her arm, she doesn't get that heartbreaking look of fear in her eyes when he looks at her anymore. She still goes silent sometimes, when she gets lost in her thoughts, but now she doesn't mind it when Kendall nudges her and breaks her free from them.<p>

She honestly can't believe how patient he is with her. They haven't brought it up since the day she told her therapist what happened to her, but every so often she finds herself wondering if she could see herself being in a real relationship with him. He said he would wait until she was ready, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's finally at that point. Kendall makes her happy. He makes her feel safe. He makes her laugh when she never thought she would again, and he makes her feel like nothing and no one else matters when they're together.

The sun is shining but it's still a pretty crisp day—springtime hasn't quite come out in full force yet, though it is finally starting to get warmer. Kendall kicks a rock down the street as they stroll along, in no hurry for Jo to get home and thus end their time together. It's as he's telling her a story about his little sister beating him at Texas Hold 'Em that it clicks with her. It's the way he smiles when he talks about Katie, the way his tone of voice is a perfect mix of proud and overprotective, the way she can tell that he really loves Katie and would do anything for her. It makes her realize that he was right—all guys aren't like Jett Stetson. Some of them are great and would never do anything to hurt her. Jo slips her hand into his as he's talking, locking their fingers together. He glances down at their joined hands, grinning as he continues his story without missing a beat.

He's been waiting for this for a long time.

"…little pest conned me out of thirty bucks! You wouldn't believe how good she is at bluffing, it's ridiculous."

"You really love her," Jo smiles.

Kendall snorts. "She's a pain." But he's smiling too as he says it.

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

"Nah," he agrees. "She's the best. I mean, she butts into my business all the time and cons me out of my allowance every chance she gets, but she's… the best person I know. I—she's the reason I agreed to go to therapy."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Kendall nods. "I had to go to the hospital to get my stomach pumped, and my mom practically had to drag her out of the room when visiting hours were over. I thought she was gonna throw a fit. Anyway, when we started talking about what we were gonna do about it, I kind of just refused to acknowledge anything was wrong, you know? I didn't need help, it was just a stupid mistake. But Katie knew I was lying. She'd caught me coming in drunk a few times before that. She looked so scared and sad that I couldn't do it. I broke down and told my mom the truth and told her I needed help."

"That's… heavy. You seem really close to her."

"I am. After our dad left… she took it really hard. She was only like, nine, and she didn't really get why he was leaving us. Hell, I was fifteen and I didn't get it. I still don't, actually," he mutters. "But the point is, she means more to me than anyone."

"That's sweet. You're a good guy, Kendall." Jo squeezes his hand a bit, watching him while he thinks.

"I try," he says doubtfully. "I screw up a lot. Maybe _that's_ why my dad took off," he jokes bitterly.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" She asks.

"Not really. It's just… I don't know. I thought we were happy, but I guess he was just missing something he couldn't get with us. I used to wonder every day if it was something I did or didn't do that made him leave. I wondered every day what I could've done differently."

"There was nothing you could do differently," Jo tells him softly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know that now," Kendall replies sincerely. "It doesn't make it any less shitty, though."

"True. But you have us now."

"'Us'?"

"You know. Logan and everyone."

"And…?" He looks down at her and grins when she blushes.

"And… well… me." They pause at the edge of her driveway and Jo steps up on the curb to be a little closer to his height. She puts her hand on his shoulders and looks at him seriously for a moment before leaning in and lightly kissing him on the lips, catching him by surprise. "You have me."

Kendall walks her all the way to her front doorstep, waiting while she turns the key in the deadbolt. Her cheeks are just slightly flushed, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She doesn't invite him in—she never does, and he doesn't blame her for that—but she does step toward him and wrap her arms around him in a firm hug, which he returns gladly. He ventures another quick kiss on the top of her head, catching a whiff of her sweet-smelling hair in the process.

When she goes inside and closes the door, Kendall's thankful there's no one around to witness what must be a ridiculously goofy look on his face. He knew she'd come around if he was patient enough, and it seems like she finally has. He never wanted to do anything to make her feel like he was pushing her, or make her feel uncomfortable; he just wanted her to know that he was there for her. He's not sure what it was about today that made the difference, but he's not complaining. Sure, eventually they'll have to actually talk about it, but they could figure that out later. Right now, all Kendall wants to do is enjoy this feeling, this moment. Right now he's invincible.

* * *

><p><em>Be home late tonight. Sorry. Don't wait up. –Dad.<em>

Camille sits on her bed and reads the text again. He sent it over an hour ago and Camille hasn't moved from her spot since then. It's nearly about time for dinner and she knows she should get up and go to the kitchen. Her doctors have her on a strict diet plan, mapping out what time she should eat her meals and how many calories she should consume so that she can continue to gain weight in a healthy manner.

She hates that all it takes is a small slip up from her routine to make her question everything. When her dad's home, she feels fine. They make dinner and eat it together, they talk about their days, sometimes Camille talks about her friends, and he tells her about what's going on at the office. Afterward, they clean everything up and Camille finishes her homework before reading or watching some TV before bed. She ignores the feeling of heaviness that weighs her down, and it usually passes because she knows her dad's working hard to understand her and help her, and because she knows if all else fails she can call Jo or Logan for some reassurance.

But days like today are much harder. Her father won't be here to make dinner with her, to make sure she eats it and keeps it down. It's like trying to learn calculus. It seems fine and easy when she's in class looking at the examples and listening to the teacher, but when she gets home and has to try it on her own, she's lost. When she's alone it's too easy to listen to the voice in the back of her mind telling her she doesn't need those calories, that they'll make her feel heavy, that she needs to do something about the fat she can pinch around her hips.

Camille takes a deep breath and gets up off her bed, grabbing her cell phone and going into her bathroom. She glances down at the toilet but quickly looks away from it, instead turning her gaze to the scale in the corner. Slowly, carefully, she steps onto it, waiting for the needle to point to her doom. She hates doing this, but she has to know.

One hundred and sixteen.

It's so high. They keep telling her to be in healthy range for her height, she needs to gain at _least_ five more pounds, but they don't understand that it _kills _her. But she has to admit, therapy _has _helped, in a way. It's helped her be able to separate her disordered thoughts from her rational ones. She knows she's underweight still, she knows that her negative body-image is psychological rather than founded in reality, and she knows that starving and purging has damaged her body. But those facts don't do anything to quiet the voice that speaks up when she least expects it, telling her she's not good enough, that she feels heavy, and that only emptying herself will make her feel free again.

Her stomach rumbles and she steps off the scale to sit on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. She stares at the toilet, suppressing the automatic urge to gag. It's like her body knows where she is, trying to push her into doing what it wants. She pulls her legs up and rests her chin on her knees, thinking about what to do. She can't call her dad and interrupt him while he works; he's already stressed enough with work without having to deal with her too.

Camille grips her cell phone tightly, opening her contacts with a tap on the screen and scrolling to the one person she can count on to get her out of the mess inside her head.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey." She doesn't really know what to say to him, so she falls into silence. She's already regretting calling him.

"_Um. Did you need something?" _

"No, I… Yeah. I guess. I don't know." God, she's such an idiot. What is she doing? _Breathe, Camille. _"This is stupid, I'm sorry."

"_What's stupid?"_

"My dad's not home. And he won't be home until later tonight. And I just… Fuck," she mutters. She doesn't want to have to admit out loud what she knows to be true. "I'm not going to be able to make myself eat dinner if I stay here alone."

"_I—oh."_

"Forget it, forget I said anything," Camille backtracks quickly. "This was dumb, I'll be okay—"

"_Camille!" _Logan interrupts her. _"Calm down. I'm glad you called."_

"You are?"

"_Well, yeah. This obviously means that the rational part of your brain is fighting against your disordered part. It wants you to seek help. Your body is pretty much trying to tell you it wants to be healthy. It's just having a hard time getting your brain to believe it."_

He says it so matter-of-factly that Camille has to chuckle. Leave it to Logan to bring up his own personal encyclopedic knowledge of psychology at a time like this. He's a genius, after all. He can't help it.

"_Anyway… my dad's working late too, but do you want to come over here? My mom and I were about to start making dinner for us." _

"Oh… um. I don't know if that's a good idea," she stutters. "I won't want to impose or anything, I just wanted to—and I mean, I don't have a car or anything, so—"

Logan cuts her off again. _"Be ready in fifteen. I'll come get you." _

"No, Logan, you don't have to, I'll be f—"

"_You're not fine. And you shouldn't be alone," _he says firmly. _"You called me because you needed help right? So just let me."_

He's right. He's always right. "Okay."

"_Good. I'll see you soon." _

* * *

><p>"You have a nice house," Camille tells him. "It's so big."<p>

They're sitting together in the upstairs game room so as not to bother Mrs. Mitchell while she does some paperwork for a client. She'd been very polite to Camille, asking her about senior year and the like, careful to avoid any touchy subjects that Logan had asked her not to mention. Mr. Mitchell was on call at the hospital, so there was no telling when he might be back. They'd saved a plate of food for him, just in case. Logan had made some grilled lemon-pepper chicken, while Camille helped his mother prepare a nice salad and a side dish of green beans.

She feels full.

But this time, it's different. She's not longing to lock herself in the bathroom and stick her finger down her throat. She's not obsessing over how many calories she just took in and how much she'll have to run to burn them off. All she's thinking is that she feels warm from the inside out, that she's comfortable sitting here with Logan, that she's not worrying about tugging on her clothes so that they don't hug her body. She feels content, for once, and it's wonderfully freeing to be able to just eat dinner with someone without it turning into a whole torturous ordeal.

"Thanks," Logan mutters, responding to her compliment. " All the easier for my parents to ignore me."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Just, you know. All the space. I get left alone a lot."

"Most teenagers would love that."

"I know. And I mean, I dunno, don't get me wrong. I like that they give me my privacy, I guess, but it's like… at what point does it stop being privacy and start being indifference?"

"Is it really that bad?" Camille asks quietly.

Logan nods. "My mom's getting better. She's trying harder, I think. It's just—they both work so much, and it's not like I can blame them, you know? But sometimes it just feels like nothing I do is worthy of paying attention to."

"How could you think that, though? You're like, the smartest guy in school. You've won all those science contests _and _that essay scholarship. You're valedictorian. You've already gotten into like six schools. You've accomplished so much."

"Yeah, but that… I dunno, it sounds nice when you say it like that, but to me, that stuff is no big deal. School and studying and whatever, that comes easy to me. The real accomplishment would've been if I could have found a way to like, make my dad care about it. He's just so busy and stressed all the time, I can't remember the last time we had an actual conversation. You want to know the real reason I study so hard all the time? Why I wanted to be a doctor?"

Camille nods.

"It's because I thought if I did that, it would make my dad happy. I thought if he knew that I was trying to like, follow in his footsteps, he would pay more attention to me. So I started reading all these science and biology books, and getting really good grades on everything, and it just became expected of me. So when I do something like win a science fair, it's no big deal. It's just… what I'm supposed to do. Nothing impresses him; nothing makes him proud of me. And the thing is, I don't know what else I _can _do above and beyond."

He looks down at his wrist, seeing the scar there that's a constant reminder of what he tried to do. She looks down too, finally starting to understand what drove him to do it.

"Tell me about it. Please." She runs her thumb over the line, making his skin tingle.

"Oh, I'm just your typical, every-day, suicidal teenager statistic. It was a cry for help," Logan says nonchalantly, though Camille can see how his eyes darken when he says it. He's not fooling her. "So one day when no one was home I just decided to do it. But, well, my mom came home early and found me. And you know the rest. I was having a hard time, and it felt like no one cared… so I thought I had to do something to _make _them care. I thought… I thought if I tried to kill myself, they'd have to pay attention to me. And if I actually happened to die in the attempt… well, so much the better."

"Logan—"

"I don't feel like that anymore," he goes on. "I don't want to die. I'm not even sure if I ever _really_ wanted to. That part still confuses me. At the time, it felt like that was the only solution. But now that I'm here—alive—I just feel stupid for spiraling that badly. And I feel embarrassed that my parents know why I did it, and my whole family, like cousins and stuff, they all treat me different now."

"You're not stupid," Camille tells him. "You just needed help. We all did. Do."

"I guess. And like, things aren't perfect now, but I just feel like… ever since I met you guys—this is gonna sound cheesy—with you guys around, I feel like I have kind of a safety net, you know?"

"I think that's how we all feel. Before you came in, we all just kind of dicked around in group. It's weird. We knew everything about each other, but we were still strangers. You changed that for us. We're actually friends now. None of us ever thought that would happen."

A small smile graces Logan's face and Camille's heart flutters. She's so ridiculous. Romance should be the last thing on her mind right now. She should be focusing on getting her head screwed on straight, or on getting through the remainder of senior year, or applying to colleges. Not Logan's brown eyes and his spiky hair and his soft cardigan sweater, or the way he has a nervous habit of biting his lip, or how her skin tingles whenever they touch.

"Anyway. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"Yep. Now you know all my secrets. I think it's only fair you tell me one," Logan grins his ridiculous crooked grin with those dimples and twinkling eyes and Camille knows she's done for. He could ask for the moon and she'd find a way to get it.

"Okay… um…" Camille hesitates. He knows pretty much everything. Except one thing. "When I started… getting weird about food, it was right after my mom left. She just… one day she was just gone. She left a note for my dad and me and we haven't heard from her since. At first, it was just depression. I wasn't sleeping or eating or doing anything, really, except crying or freaking out. I was a wreck… just a total mess."

"Understandable."

"Yeah. I spent a month just wondering why she left, why she didn't tell us she was having problems, why I wasn't a good enough reason for her to stay, you know? Depression kind of runs in her side of the family, so we knew there were things to work through, but she didn't really let on how bad she was getting. Anyway, everything was just kind of falling apart by then. I was messing up all my auditions, even the ones I should have easily nailed, my grades were just down the drain completely, Stephanie didn't know how to help me, and I couldn't talk to my dad because he was just as upset as I was."

Camille stops again, deciding if she should keep going.

"She didn't leave because of you," Logan frowns, unhappy that she's placed this burden on herself.

"I know. But it felt like it. So… restricting my calories and not eating and later, purging, it all just felt… You remember how you said when you finally decided you were going to try to commit suicide, that you didn't feel happy, but it made you feel in control of something? That's how I felt. It didn't really make me happy, but I associated the weight loss, the hunger pains, exercising obsessively, the lightheadedness, all of it, with taking control of my life. It was like I finally found something I was good at, and I had to keep it up or else I'd just be a total failure."

"And now?"

"Now… I know now that me trying to be in control of my life is actually what caused me to _lose_ control of it. I _know _that, rationally, but it's still hard to separate that from whatever's in my brain that tells me I'm a quitter."

"You're not a quitter," Logan smiles. "You're way stronger than you think you are. I can tell, even from when I first joined group to now. You've gotten better."

"You have a lot to do with that, you know."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Do you remember that first day back at school after you started coming to therapy? I walked into class, and we were the only two people there, and you asked me how I was. I told you I was fine, and you knew I was lying, and I knew that you knew I was lying, but you just smiled at me and chatted about the vocab quiz."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, really. Nothing and everything. You were just…nice to me. You asked me how I was and you actually cared about the answer. I needed that. And… yeah. There you have it. We officially know all each other's secrets."

"It's a good thing we're friends," Logan jokes. "We'd have excellent blackmail material, otherwise."

"Just don't get on my bad side, Mitchell," she grins.

* * *

><p>Kendall and his mother arrive at the Palm Woods on Friday afternoon at the same time as Jo and her father. Kendall waves at her, but she doesn't seem to see it. She looks pale and rather nervous, chewing on her bottom lip and wringing her hands. When they get inside, Jo signs in and is immediately greeted by her therapist, who shakes hands with Mr. Taylor and leads them all to her office.<p>

Mrs. Knight kisses Kendall on the cheek before leaving him, and he stares at the hallway Jo has just disappeared down. She doesn't emerge from the room for hours, staying in there with her dad and her doctor all the way through dinner, group, and free time.

It's nearly time for curfew by the time she reappears, but Kendall doesn't get any time to talk to her because soon the staff are ushering the residents to their rooms for the night. He wishes he could follow her and make sure she's okay—she looks shaken up—but it's out of the question. Boys aren't even allowed on the girls' floor.

Instead, he and Logan settle into their room, changing into to sleeping clothes and getting in bed for lack of anything better to do. They complain for the hundredth time how they wish they were allowed a TV or a computer, or even just their cellphones, though they know they're beating a dead horse. Lack of technology gives them "ample time to focus on themselves and their treatment in recovery of their personal issues," according to the pamphlets and doctors.

Eventually Logan's responses start getting cloudier and cloudier, until finally Kendall can hear him breathing deeply and regularly, fast asleep across the room from him. He wonders briefly what Logan really thinks of him. Kendall's used to sharing space, having a younger sibling and all. But Logan, an only child who's been left alone for much of his life, must secretly resent it, right? He's used to having things a certain way. But if he does mind, Kendall reflects, he's quite a good actor, because he doesn't think Logan's ever expressed any displeasure at having to share a room, a bathroom, his mealtimes, his free time… Then again, maybe Logan's just happy to have someone to talk to.

In the morning before breakfast, a member of the staff comes into their room, announcing a random room-check for any illicit items. He makes it sound like he's checking that no one snuck in a cellphone or laptop, but Kendall can tell the real reason behind this is Lauren Murray. The residents are now subjected to random searches to make sure no one's managed to smuggle in drugs or alcohol. No one wants a repeat of the Lauren incident.

He checks their dresser drawers and makes them empty their pockets, checking inside the closet and underneath the beds for anything illegal. When he finds nothing, he leaves the boys to get ready for breakfast. Logan is staring into the bag containing his clothes for the day with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's the matter?" Kendall asks.

Logan holds up a t-shirt in response. When Kendall only continues to stare at him questioningly, he speaks. "I grabbed the wrong shirt when I was packing," he says morosely. "I didn't bring anything with long sleeves."

He looks down at his bare arm, free of bandages and stitches, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight over the last several weeks. He frowns at the lines that blemish his skin before resolutely pulling off the shirt he slept in and changing into the one in his hand.

"You want mine?" Kendall offers, beginning to shrug off the plaid button-down he has on over his own t-shirt.

"No, that's okay," Logan says determinedly. "It had to happen sooner or later. Let's go get breakfast."

He walks out confidently, hoping that his moment of self-assurance will carry him through the day. He hasn't worn anything with short sleeves since the day he got out of the hospital, always and constantly making sure that his scars were covered so as not to invite even more curious stares and whispers than he already gets.

Kendall follows Logan out of the room, clapping him on the back supportively as they walk to the dining hall to find their friends. James and Carlos are already seated with their trays of food. Carlos picks at what he suspects are fake eggs, bleary-eyed, while James sits across from, covering everything in salt, pepper, and ketchup in an attempt to give his meal some taste.

"This is terrible," Carlos says as Camille joins them. He looks up at her and grins. "No wonder you never eat it." Logan thumps him on the back of the head before sitting next to him. "What? Camille knows I'm joking. Don't ya, Cam?"

"Sure," Camille shrugs. They're definitely all familiar enough to poke fun at each other's issues by now.

She sits on the other side of Logan, her own bare arm brushing against his. They both look down when their skin touches, neither moving away and breaking the contact. No one mentions Logan's choice of clothing, but whether it's because they don't notice or they don't want to make a big deal of it, he can't be sure.

Lucy finally joins the table, sitting by Kendall and across from Camille. Jo never shows up to breakfast or any of the rest of the day's activities, but Camille assures them that everything is fine. Jo brought her dad in to finally talk about what happened to her and what their plan of action of should be, so naturally that's something that won't be a quick meeting. Kendall is mildly relieved, but he wishes he could see or speak to her, just to see for himself that she's all right.

Finally, near the end of free hour and right before curfew, Jo, her father, her therapist, and another woman dressed in a business suit who must be a lawyer all emerge from the hallway that leads to the doctors' offices. The dressed-up woman shakes hands with Mr. Taylor and Dr. Beatty, and finally places her hands on Jo's shoulders, a determined look on her face as she tells her something. Jo nods, not looking a hundred percent sure, but she's smiling when she shakes the woman's hand. Her father hugs her for a long time before also making his exit, but before she can rejoin her group, it's curfew time and the staff starts trying to shoo everyone to their rooms. Kendall straggles, trying to get a moment to talk to Jo, but she's still talking to her dad and her doctor, and she doesn't even see Kendall trying to get her attention.

He's about to give up when she suddenly looks around, as if feeling his eyes on her. She briefly smiles at him—a true, genuine smile, not a shy or forced one like she usually gives. It's real, and it's for him, and that's all he needs before allowing Logan to pull him away towards their room.

* * *

><p><strong>And another chapter done! Thank you guys as always for reviewingfavoriting/alerting! It warms my heart to see that even nine and ten chapters in, people are still finding the story and wanting to read it. Hope you guys liked it! Please leave a review! I respond to them as soon as I can, and if you have any questions or anything else, you can message me on tumblr too! Thanks everyone!**


	11. This Far

"_It's one of those things that people say— you can't move on until you let go of the past. Letting go is the easy part, it's the moving on that's painful. So sometimes we fight it, try and keep things the same. Things can't stay the same though. At some point, you just have to let go. Move on. Because no matter how painful it is, it's the only way we grow." —Meredith Grey (Grey's Anatomy)_

* * *

><p>Chapter 11: This Far<p>

_And I guess we made it,  
>Or at least we made it this far.<br>And it all looks smooth from here  
>In a future day there may be waves<br>But I must say, the skies have never looked so clear._

* * *

><p>Camille slams her locker shut, preparing to walk to the park to meet Carlos. She's already outside when she hears someone calling her name.<p>

"Camille!"

She pauses before turning around, as if she doesn't believe what she's hearing. But Stephanie King is jogging toward her, soccer gear in tow. Camille frowns. She has practice soon; Stephanie should be in the locker room already.

"Hey," Stephanie pants, breathless, when she catches up to her.

"Hi," Camille says dubiously, unsure why Stephanie has decided to talk to her all of a sudden.

"Um… how are you?" She asks, searching for something to say.

"Fantastic," Camille replies drily.

"That's good. You seem… good," Stephanie says awkwardly.

"Don't you have practice?"

"Yeah, but I… Look, I wanted to talk to you. I miss you. And I'm sorry for what happened between us. I shouldn't have pushed you like that, okay?"

Camille stares at her for a second. "Um… thanks."

_Your turn to apologize, _she thinks to herself. _You can get your friend back._ But she can't do it. Too many things are holding her back. Stephanie doesn't understand her, will never understand what she's going through; things will end up just like they did the last time. They'll get into some sort of fight, and that'll be it. And how is she supposed to keep Stephanie separate from the others? The reason they all work as friends is because they know everything about each other. Steph doesn't fit in with them, know their secrets, their fears, their dreams. She has a normal, functional, two-parent household, solid grades, athletic talent, and tons of other friends. Friends who aren't accidental suicide-enablers.

"I, um. I have to go," Camille says, starting to continue on her way to the park.

"Wait," Stephanie reaches out and holds onto her elbow. "Can't we talk about this?"

"Look, Steph, I appreciate what you're trying to do. I do. But you were right. I can't make you sit around and watch me while I try to get better. It's not fair to you. I can't be a good friend right now."

"Camille, come on. We've been friends forever! I know you don't just want to throw it away over one stupid fight."

Camille bites her lip and starts walking again, with Stephanie following. "I don't know what to tell you, Steph… And you're gonna be late to practice."

"Fuck soccer practice," Stephanie rolls her eyes. "This is more important. And why are you in such a hurry?"

"I just… need to go meet someone."

Stephanie follows her all the way to the park, trying to get Camille to open up and admit that she wants to be friends again. Truth be told, she _does _want her friend back. But Stephanie doesn't know the half of what Camille's dealing with these days, between her bulimia and her feelings for Logan and residual feelings about her mom leaving _and _supporting Jo with her prosecution case, oh and the whole being responsible for the death of a girl who roomed down the hall from her. And there's also the fact that she's on her way to meet Carlos so he can pay her for the drugs she supplied him with via James earlier in the week. Somehow she doesn't think Stephanie would approve of this particular extracurricular activity. But Stephanie refuses to be shaken, so she has no choice but to let her tag along. _If she wants to be friends, she might as well see what she's getting into. _

"What are we doing here?" Stephanie asks, warily eyeing Carlos near the edge of the park, smoking with his friends Wayne and Andy. "Camille, are you buying drugs?" She sounds worried, knowing Carlos' and his friends' reputations around campus.

"Of course not."

The girls walk up to Carlos and his friends, who frown at Stephanie. "Who's the new girl?"

"Just a friend," Camille replies shortly. "You have something for me, Carlos?"

Carlos looks between Camille and her friend for a long moment, trying to decide if Stephanie's cool or not. He meets Camille's gaze and she gives him a subtle nod, and that's all he needs. He trusts Camille, and she trusts this girl, so he pulls out his wallet slowly, pursing his cigarette between his lips. He thumbs through the wad of cash, pulling out a stack of twenties and handing them over to Camille, who shoves them into her own wallet before stuffing it back in her purse.

"See you around," he tells her as she turns to start walking home.

When they're out of earshot, Stephanie asks, "What was that?"

"Carlos and I have an arrangement," Camille says evasively. "It's not a big deal."

"Camille, he's a _drug_ dealer! This is _so _a big deal! What was he paying you for?"

"He's my friend, Stephanie. And if you want to be friends again, you have to be able to trust me. I can't… tell you everything. Not yet, anyway. If you're not okay with that, you need to walk away now because I don't think I can handle another fight."

Stephanie stares at her and Camille feels sure that any second now she'll change her mind about being friends again and walk away and quite frankly, she isn't sure which will actually be harder—trying to be friends or just letting her go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You don't have to tell me everything. Just promise me you're not doing anything that's hurting your recovery."

"I'm not," Camille assures her. "I have a meal plan and a diet regimen and a support group, and I haven't purged since… well. You know. That night… I'm doing everything I'm supposed to."

"Really?"

"I'm not saying it's easy. It's hard not to think about calories. I don't like being full. I don't like my clothes being tight. I don't like when people tell me I look 'healthy' because all I hear is 'not skinny.' I have to concentrate after every meal to not lock myself in the nearest bathroom. It's hard and it sucks, but I'm getting through it."

"I'm really proud of you, Cam," Stephanie says softly. "And I really am sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to make you feel like you were inconveniencing me. I know it's no excuse for making you feel bad, but I was just worried about you. You're still my best friend. I need you to get better."

Tears prick at Camille's eyes for a second but she smiles as Stephanie pulls her into a tight hug. "I missed you."

"God, I missed you, too," Stephanie laughs. "You have no idea what it's like hanging out with jock girls all the time. All they want to do is talk about practice, or breaking in new cleats, or what color ribbons we're wearing in the next game. Or watch Bend It Like Beckham every single weekend. I love soccer, but I don't want it to be my entire life."

They turn onto Camille's street, Stephanie hesitating when Camille begins walking up the driveway. "Come on. We have a lot of catching up to do." Camille grins, turning her house key in the front-door lock and leads the way inside.

* * *

><p>When Kendall gets home from school he can hear the phone ringing through the front door. He struggles with his keys, trying to fish them out of his backpack, but by the time he unearths them and gets the door unlocked, the ringing has stopped and a flashing light alerts him of a new voicemail. He plops his bag down on the couch and shrugs off his jacket before heading into the kitchen for a snack. He presses the button to play the messages and digs through the refrigerator, only half-listening to the first two voicemails from one of his mom's co-workers and Katie's carpool ride.<p>

He's grumbling about having to eat celery for a snack—his mom is really into buying only super-healthy foods now—when the machine beeps with a final message. Kendall nearly drops the jar of peanut butter when he hears the voice coming through the speaker.

"_Kendall—and Katie—it's your dad." _There's a long pause, as if Mark Knight hadn't entirely thought through what he would say when he made the call. _"I, um, just wanted you both to know that I was thinking about you. I'd love to talk to you both. Please call me back." _Another brief pause, a click, and a beep as the message ends and the machine clicks off.

Kendall continues what he was doing, adding peanut butter to his stalks of celery, sitting in the kitchen and eating his snack in silence as he thinks. But he doesn't even know _what _to think. Should he call his dad back? Why does he want to speak now? Will Katie want to talk to him? Does his mom know he's been trying to reach Kendall?

He glances up the clock. Katie won't be home for about a half hour, and his mom is, of course, working late. Again. Kendall picks up the phone and holds it in his hand, clicking it on and listening to the dial tone for a moment. Biting his lip, he punches the numbers and holds the phone to his ear, waiting for an answer.

"_Kendall?" _

"Hey. You busy?"

"_Not really. What's up?" _

Kendall sighed into the phone. "I have a hypothetical question."

"_Okay. What is it?" _

"If someone who hadn't spoken to in a couple of years suddenly wanted to get in contact with you, would you call them back, or keep ignoring them?"

"_Is this about your dad?" _Logan asks after a short pause.

"It's hypothetical, Loges."

"…_Right, sure," _Logan says sarcastically. _"Okay, then 'hypothetically,' I guess I would say that there's no harm in just seeing what he—or whoever—wants." _

"Even if he walked out on us for no reason? Even though he made us feel like we were crap, and worthless, and never once bothered to explain to us what happened?" Kendall drops the act and speaks frankly, starting to get more upset the more he thinks about his dad. "Even though he's known this whole time I was in the hospital, and in therapy, and he never tried to visit me or see how I was doing? I was fifteen the last time he even tried to talk to me. He didn't even call when I went to the hospital, or checked into therapy. So why should I let him back into my life if all he's gonna do is walk out of it?"

"_Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe he misses you," _Logan says gently. _"You won't know if you don't at least hear him out." _

"I just… I don't know if I want to hear what he has to say. What excuse could he possibly give me that he thinks I'd forgive?"

"_I don't know, man. But if you talk to him, you can at least tell him how __**you **__feel." _

"I don't—I don't think I want to. I don't think I can."

"_Alright, well, do what you want," _Logan says shortly, sounding annoyed. _"You're just being stubborn. I gotta go, I'll see you at school." _

Before Kendall can say anything else, he hears the click telling him Logan has hung up, and he stares at the receiver in his hand, bewildered at his friend's sudden change in attitude. He's a little annoyed himself now—Logan doesn't understand what he's—

Wait.

Kendall claps a hand to his forehead, chiding himself for his stupidity. Of course Logan would tell him to try to have a relationship with his dad. Because it's what Logan would want if he had a choice. But he doesn't, because Mr. Mitchell is so busy with work that he doesn't have time for his own son. And even when he's not busy, he doesn't know how to talk to Logan or spend time with him. That must be why Logan sounded upset. He think's Kendall's wasting an opportunity that not everyone gets.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is just being stubborn. Okay, scratch that. He _knows _he's being stubborn, but doesn't he deserve to hold this one grudge? After everything Mr. Knight put them through, doesn't Kendall reserve the right to keep him out of the life that he so easily walked away from?

It might upset Logan, but Kendall isn't ready to talk to his dad. Not now, and maybe not ever.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Logan hangs up his phone in a huff and tosses the phone onto his bed before going downstairs to the kitchen. He needs a distraction from thinking about Kendall's father issues, because they remind him of his own father issues. His mother sits at the kitchen counter, reading over the newspaper and drinking a mug of hot tea.<p>

"Hey, Mom. When did you get here?"

"Just now," replies Mrs. Mitchell. "Would you do me a favor, honey? I forgot to check the mail on my way inside, go and see if we have anything."

"Sure."

He steps out the front door as his father's car makes its way up the driveway. All three of them home for dinner? When was the last time _that _happened, Logan wonders. Shaking his head as he dwells on his conversation with Kendall, Logan flips through the envelopes and catalogs left in the mailbox today. He pauses when he sees his own name on the front of a large packet.

It's a college letter, from Stanford University. He'd applied to so many, he was losing track of how replies he'd received, especially with everything else going on. He tosses the rest of the mail onto the counter, joining his parents in the kitchen. His father is reading through some paperwork he's brought home, and doesn't look up when Logan takes a seat across from him at the table. He does a quick mental check in his head… this is the last letter he'll receive, and the most important, because it's his number one choice for where he wants to attend next year.

Fingers now oddly stiff, Logan slowly rips open the back of the envelope and pulls out the sheets of paper. His heart pounds in his chest while he stalls on reading what it says. He looks up at his dad first, then his mom, neither of whom seem to notice that he's freaking out a little.

_Dear Mr. Mitchell, _

_The Stanford University Board of Undergraduate Admissions takes great pleasure in offering you placement in the Class of 2016…. _

Logan lets out a strangled cry of joy and quickly skims the rest of the letter as his parents look up in alarm. Phrases like _"look forward to having you join the community" _and _"your distinguished academic and extracurricular achievements" _swim in front of him and he jumps out of his chair, reading it over again just to be sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him.

They aren't. He really did get in.

"Logan?" His mother asks.

He rushes to her and thrusts the packet into her hands. "I got in! Mom, Dad, I got into Stanford!"

"That's wonderful, sweetie. We're so proud of you! Aren't we, Phillip?"

She hands the packet over to Mr. Mitchell, who reads over it with an impassive look. Logan is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, too excited for words. He'd gotten his acceptances to Princeton, Brown, and Cornell, and even though those were all awesome schools—Ivy League, even—he knew from the second he started submitting applications that Stanford was the school for him. However, his enthusiasm starts to ebb as the seconds drag on and Mr. Mitchell declines to congratulate his son.

"I know it's a lot of money—" Logan starts. "But we can look at financial aid, and I've already applied for scholarships…"

"Logan," Mr. Mitchell says slowly.

"And I mean, if it really comes down to it, I can always apply for a student loan, or get a work-study job—"

"Logan," his father repeats, silencing him. "I think we need to discuss this."

Logan finally sees the stern expression on Mr. Mitchell's face, and fear begins to creep up. "Dad, come on," he says, trying not to panic. "It's my first choice school and _I got in! _Do you know how many people get rejected from Stanford every year? They only admit something like seven percent of applicants!"

"I know you're excited, Logan," Phillip says. "But I don't believe this is really in your best interests."

"Dad! What are you talking about? It's one of the best schools in the country!"

"I don't think, given your current… circumstance, that going so far away is a good idea." He glances down almost imperceptibly at Logan's arms, which are crossed over his chest, pale scars visible because he'd chosen not to wear long sleeves again. "I'm sorry, son, but I can't allow it. Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Logan's jaw drops. "You—you can't be serious."

Phillip lays the packet down and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I know it's disappointing—"

"Dad—"

"You're not ready for this, Logan. That's all there is to it. We're not going to send you away in your condition."

"My condition?" Logan grits his teeth. "What 'condition' would that be?" He glares at his dad, daring him to talk about it. Mr. Mitchell has thus far done a brilliant job of pretending like Logan never tried to kill himself, refusing to talk about it openly or even refer to it all. It's almost as if he thinks acknowledging it will make Logan run off and try to do it again.

"Don't be petulant, Logan. You know what I'm talking about. I would never forgive myself if anything happened while you were away."

"I'm not gonna try to kill myself again!" Logan shouts, startling both his parents with his frankness. "I've been doing everything I'm supposed to! I take my stupid medication, I go to all my therapy sessions, I write in the stupid journal they gave us, and I talk things out with my group! _And _my grades are still good, and I made new friends! What more do you want from me?"

"End of discussion, Logan."

Logan's throat and chest feel tight, and he snatches up his envelope from the table and storms out of the kitchen, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to his room with a loud crash. He breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself down, but hot tears form behind his eyes and he wipes them away furiously, aiming a kick at his bedside table and knocking over a lamp in his anger.

He reads the letter again before crumpling it up and tossing it to the ground, along with the financial aid information and pamphlet on student housing. A moment later a soft knock comes at his door that he doesn't bother to answer.

Mrs. Mitchell walks in and shuts the door gently behind her before moving towards Logan and sitting on the edge of his bed with him.

"I know you're upset, sweetie," she says, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Logan shrugs it off and pretends not to notice the hurt look on her face. "You don't know how I feel."

"Your father and I only want what's best for you."

"Then you should want me to go to the best school I got into! Mom, I've literally been waiting _months _for this, and after all that, Dad just tells me I can't go? Do you guys even know what I've been through these last couple years?"

"Honey—"

"No, Mom! Just listen to me for once!" Logan stands up angrily and paces the length of his room. "I've spent every waking moment reading, studying, or joining extra-curricular clubs for my résumé, taking SAT prep classes, and researching colleges and universities! I've sacrificed my friends to focus on my grades so I could get into all these schools, thinking maybe one day something I did would be good enough for you guys to notice me!"

"Logan…"

"And now that I finally have, the very first thing out of his mouth is 'no.' How did you think I was going to react?"

"Your father is scared, Logan!" Mrs. Mitchell says, forcing him to pay attention to her. "He wants to protect you."

"He doesn't give a damn about me!" Yells Logan. "Everything I've ever done was to try to make him proud of me and he's never acknowledged any of it! The straight-A's, the science fairs, wanting to be a doctor, just like him… All of it was for him and he's never cared about any of it! You see these?" Logan holds out his arm and his mother closes her eyes to avoid looking at the scars. "Even that was to get you guys to notice me and all you did was dump me into therapy as soon as I got out of the hospital!"

Mrs. Mitchell puts her hand over heart, as if it physically pains her to hear her son speak this way. "Logan, your dad and I are proud of everything you've accomplished, how could you think we aren't?"

"Because you've never said it," he mumbles, feeling childish that he has to ask for verbal validation.

"Oh, sweetie." Mrs. Mitchell holds her arms out to him and he rejoins her on the bed, letting her embrace him this time. "We love you so, so much, you have no idea. Your father was out of his mind with worry after what happened. That first night in the hospital, they practically had to get security to drag him out of your room."

"Really?"

"Really. I know that he has a hard time telling you what you mean to him, but you mustn't doubt how important you are to him, and to me."

Logan falls silent for a moment. Then—"What about Stanford?"

"Logan…"

"Mom, please."

"I understand what this means to you, honey, but I really do think your father has a point. If we sent you away to school and… I just don't think it's the right time. University can put you under some enormous stress, and if you're not equipped to deal with it—"

"But—"

"We won't risk it, son. I'm sorry."

Logan opens his mouth to argue some more, but words fail him. How can he possibly explain that this is literally what he's been working towards his whole life? He's based his whole identity on being the smart guy, the school genius, the science nerd who didn't have time for friends because he was so determined to get into a good university. And now… now he's gotten what he worked so hard for, and in less than an hour, all his dreams are crushed.

Interpreting his silence as acquiescence, Mrs. Mitchell hugs Logan again and kisses his head, exiting the room and leaving him alone.

* * *

><p>By the time he's ready to leave for school in the morning, both Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell have gone to work. He pours himself a glass of orange juice and makes some toast before he leaves, gingerly placing the envelope from Stanford in his backpack, the papers smoothed back out after he'd retrieved them from the floor of his room.<p>

He'd lain awake in bed for hours thinking about what he could do, feeling more and more hopeless by the hour. He supposes he'll have to settle for just being happy knowing that he was accepted to the school, even if he had to go to a local college that was not as prestigious or as perfect for him as Stanford. But, at the very least, he can show the letter to his friends and let them be happy for him for a minute before telling them his dad wouldn't let him go.

Everyone else is at the lunch table already when he gets there. Everyone but Camille, that is. He looks around the cafeteria but doesn't see her, so he sits with the rest of the group, slightly disappointed that she won't be there to witness his news. He slides into his seat next to Lucy, who's arguing with Kendall about whether the mystery meat being served that day tastes more like pot roast or ham.

"So I've got good news and bad news," Logan announces as he pulls the letter out from his backpack. "Want to hear?"

"That sounds intriguing. What's up?" Jo asks.

He puts the letter out in the middle of the table and Carlos and James both grab for it. "I got my last college acceptance letter yesterday," he says with a small smile. "Stanford."

"What? Seriously? Congrats, man," Kendall looks impressed as he peers over Carlos' shoulder to read the letter himself. "Then what's the bad news? That you're going to have to leave the rest of us rejects to fend for ourselves?"

"Speak for yourself, Knight," James scoffs. "I got an acceptance this week, too."

"Fine, fine. I'll be the only reject left in this shitty town. Once you all go off into the sunset to face your futures." He sighs dramatically, prompting Lucy to throw her crumpled napkin at him and roll her eyes.

"Chill, Kendall. It's not like you'll be the only one here."

"I know. But it won't be the same without all of us."

"Come on, Loges. What's the bad news?" Jo prompts, bringing everyone's attention back to Logan.

"My dad says I can't go."

"What? Why not?"

"He doesn't think I'm stable enough. He think's I'll try to kill myself again. Like, hello, if I wanted to try again, I would have done it by now."

"Did you try talking to him?" Kendall asks, frowning. As much as he would hate to lose his best friend, he knows this would make Logan really happy.

"I did," Logan sighs heavily. "He just refused to let me say anything, and my mom took his side."

"That sucks. Sorry, man," Carlos says. "So now what?"

Logan shrugs. "I don't know. Take classes here in town and hope that my parents trust me by the time I apply to med school?"

"Maybe there's something you can do," James says optimistically. "You're a genius. You'll think of something."

"Like what?"

No one has an answer for him.

* * *

><p>After school, when Jo invites Kendall over for dinner for the first time, he grins and accepts right away. He's nervous to officially meet her dad, but he's glad that he and Jo are moving in a steady direction. They're already talking about taking classes together at the community college, and maybe transferring somewhere else later.<p>

He walks her home as always and she pecks him on the lips before going inside. He waits until the door is closed before heading off for his own house. Another message from his dad is on the machine, which he deletes right away, feeling somewhat guilty as he thinks about what Logan would say if he knew that Kendall was ignoring all attempts by his dad to reconcile.

He changes out of his school clothes and does a little bit of homework with Katie at the kitchen table, waiting for her babysitter to arrive so he can go back to Jo's house. She makes him check her math homework, though he doesn't need to because she's great at math. He's finishing up his own lab report for Physics when the doorbell rings. Katie goes to answer it, letting in her babysitter, who looks flustered and worn out.

"Sorry, I think I'm a little late," she says breathlessly. "Track practice ran long today."

"No problem," Kendall replies easily. "I should be back in a couple of hours. Way before my mom, anyway. And don't let Katie trick you into thinking she's done with all her homework; she still has a history worksheet and some vocab words to look at."

"Thanks, _Mom,_" Katie says sullenly.

"Just looking out for you, baby sister," Kendall grins. "Have fun."

"Have fun with your _girlfriend," _she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I will, thanks," he says, ignoring her attitude. "Bye, guys."

Kendall smiles to himself as he leaves the house. He and Jo haven't really discussed it, but then again, they didn't really need to. Actions speak louder than words, right? She held his hand under the table at lunch, and he texted her good morning and good night every day, and she allowed him to kiss her when they were alone, growing more and more comfortable in his presence every day. They hadn't put a label on it, sure, but they both knew what was going on between them. Kendall had made his intentions very clear with her, and he waited patiently while she dealt with the whole Jett business. As time went on, Jett and the rest of the school were getting bored with picking on her, and it seemed like things might finally just blow over.

He arrives at Jo's house, grateful to step inside the warm living room. The chilly air leftover from winter had numbed his fingers, and he laughs when Jo squeals and tries to get away when he presses his icy hands to the back of her neck.

"You are _so _going to pay for that," she says with a glare.

Mr. Taylor walks in, not looking amused. "You must be Kendall."

Kendall's smile falters momentarily and he clears his throat. "Uh, yes sir. Nice to meet you." He holds out his hand and Mr. Taylor shakes it firmly. Kendall tries not to flinch.

Dinner is only slightly awkward as Kendall tries to give acceptable answers to any questions Jo's dad throws out. He doesn't, thankfully, ask why Kendall's in therapy, so they're able to avoid talking about his recovering alcoholism and recent relapse.

After dinner, Mr. Taylor retires to his study, shutting the door behind him, leaving Kendall and Jo in the living room.

"He hates me," Kendall declares.

"He doesn't hate you," Jo soothes him. "He's just on edge. He's going to have a hard time trusting any guy around me after what happened."

"You know I would—I would never do anything to hurt you, right?" Kendall laces his fingers with hers and kisses their joined hands.

"I know that," she cups his cheek. "He knows it, too. You just have to give it some time. He'll come around."

"If you say so."

"I do."

Jo lets go of Kendall's hand, idly flipping through the stack of mail on the coffee table. She pulls out a magazine and a postcard from her dentist, reminding her that it's time for a cleaning. She freezes when she comes to another letter with her name on it. The logo for the law firm that's working on her case is stamped on the upper left corner.

"What is it?" Kendall asks, noting the look of apprehension that's come over her.

Hands shaking, she rips open the envelope and begins to read, determinedly keeping a straight face.

"It's from my lawyers. A court date's been set for Jett's trial."

"Oh. Wow. That's, um… Wow. Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Jo says quietly. "They're going to want me to testify against him. Kendall… I don't know if I can do this."

"Don't say that. Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. All you have to do is tell the truth. He can't hurt you. And then this will all be over."

"I know, but… Everything is just starting to feel normal again. With you, and our friends, and school. I'm finally starting to feel like my old self and I don't want to have to relive all of it again. I've already had to do it in therapy and in front of my dad and my lawyers. I don't want to it again in front of a whole courtroom of people. And he'll be there, too! I'll have to sit there and see his smug little face when he tells everyone that I'm a liar who's just trying to get back at him."

Kendall puts his arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, relaxing her body against his. "You're stronger than you think you are," he whispers into her hair. "You've made it this far. All you have to do is push through this, too. I know you can."

"I'm just scared."

"It's okay to be scared. But you know what the right thing is. You have to do this, Jo."

Jo nods silently, laying the letter back on the coffee table.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

* * *

><p><strong>So things are looking up for some of our characters, and not so much for others. Breaking my Tuesday rule because it's been too long since I've updated; hopefully you guys forgive me. Thanks a lot for reading! Please review, pretties! The last chapter logged over 150 hits and 4 reviews... just saying. And! Thanks to everyone who checked out the one-shots I posted. Love you guys. Let me know whatcha think!<strong>


	12. First Bad Habit

"_We are convinced in the teeth of the evidence that there is something fundamentally flawed about us, something that needs fixing and yet is unfixable."_

* * *

><p>Chapter 12: First Bad Habit<p>

_You're like my first bad habit, I can't live without it  
>I can't give you up (give you up)<br>And even though you're trouble, I come back for double  
>I can't say 'enough is enough.'<br>I'm a part of you, you're a part of me  
>And I know it's wrong, but I can't get free. <em>

* * *

><p>When Camille's dad checks her into the Palm Woods, she spots James and Carlos in their usual corner of the lobby, already looking bored and like they want to stir up some trouble. She smiles to herself as they engage themselves in what looks like an intense thumb-wrestling match before turning back to say goodbye to Mr. Roberts.<p>

When he's gone, she goes up to her room to put her bag away, pulling out a full water bottle. She drinks from it deeply, ignoring the voice in her head telling her she's not doing herself any favors. So what if it's just water weight? She needs to hit a certain number on the scale for her weigh-in this weekend, or her doctors might start recommending a more intensive approach to her treatment. And that is not what she wants. At least, she doesn't think so.

Because, really, she's fine. She's totally fine.

She keeps her food down when she eats, anyway. She's still controlling her portions in an almost militant fashion, and she's starting to obsess over burning calories in any way she can, but knowing her problem and overcoming it are two totally different things.

So maybe she isn't fine. But one thing is for sure… she doesn't want anyone to know how hard it is. Not her dad or her friends, and especially not Logan.

Logan's usually here by now, so she heads for his and Kendall's room and knocks on their door to see if anyone will answer.

He looks surprised to find her there; she's never visited their room.

"Hey. Come in."

"Thanks. Nice place you have here," she grins.

"Ha. Would you like a tour?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"Excellent." He offers his arm out to her and she takes it, holding back a giggle. He leads her one step into the small room. "Well, here we have my side of the room." Logan gestures to his bed and his desk, where a couple of small things lay neatly in place. "And over there," he nods towards Kendall's side of the room, empty because he hasn't yet arrived, "is my roommate's side. You might know him. Tall, blond guy. Wears a lot of plaid."

Camille does giggle at this and lets go of Logan's arm. "Very impressive," she says sarcastically.

She sits on Logan's bed, folding her legs up Indian-style and rests her back against the wall, continuing to sip from her bottle. Logan likes how she makes herself at home—how she doesn't make things weird by being overly polite. He joins her on the twin-sized bed, leaving a respectable gap between them, but close enough that—if he wanted to—he could _accidentally _brush his arm against hers.

"We've missed you at lunch the past couple days," Logan tells her. "You're not avoiding us, are you?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I was gonna talk about it in group today-Stephanie and I made up. We've been doing a lot of catching up."

"Oh, wow. That's great. How's it going?"

Camille bites her lip. "It's… weird."

"Why?"

"Well… It's just kind of weird not being able to tell her everything, you know? Like, it used to not matter, because my group life and my home life were so separate. But now that we're all friends and our lives are all tangled together, I can't be as open with her without betraying you guys' trust. So it just makes things awkward because she knows I'm holding back." Camille lets says all of this quickly and without pausing for breath, shoulders slumping when she finishes. "And I want things to be good between us again, but I don't know how to be the same friend to her I was before."

"That's tough," Logan murmurs. "But I'm sure you guys will work it out. You've been friends forever, right?"

"Yeah… But what have I missed with you guys? What's new?"

"Hmm, well…" Logan squints as he thinks. "Carlos' art teacher entered him in another competition. Kendall's still ignoring his dad. Jett's trial date has been set. Oh and, I got into Stanford," he adds with a small smile.

"What?" Camille squeaks. "You did?" She throws her arms around his neck tightly in congratulation. "Logan, that's amazing! You must be so excited! Why aren't you excited?" She demands, realizing that he isn't matching her enthusiasm.

"My dad says I can't go," he replies glumly. "He and my mom think it's a bad idea."

"_What?" _She says again. "No, you have to go!"

"It's a no go," Logan sighs. "They still think I'm one wrong move away from trying this again," he turns his left arm outward so that Camille can see the scar she's so familiar with.

Almost automatically her fingertips find their way to his forearm and she traces the skin there lightly, sending a shiver down his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. She blushes when she looks up and finds Logan staring at her, and she retracts her hand quickly.

"Sorry." Camille tucks some hair behind her ear, to have something to do with her hands.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind," he grins. "I'm glad that they don't weird you out."

Camille runs her finger down the length of his arm again, over his wrist and across his palm before finally intertwining her hand with his, not meeting his eyes, as if embarrassed by her own daring. Logan squeezes her hand with his gently to let her know that he's fine with it. More than fine, actually—overjoyed might be a more appropriate term. He'd been debating it in his head forever, whether it was a good idea to get more involved with Camille than he already was. On the one hand, they both had definite issues they needed to work through, and a relationship might not be where they needed to focus their attention.

But on the other hand… Logan had started to realize that Camille was like a magnet to him. He gravitated toward her, even when they were with all their friends. He felt strangely empty when she wasn't around.

He needed her.

His breath is sort of caught in his throat, but she seems to be waiting for him to say something, or _do _something since she's just looking at him expectantly. With her other hand she fiddles with her hair again but freezes when Logan softly brushes it away from her face. She turns toward him, and this time it's she who has to forcibly remember to breathe. Camille's heart pounds and her eyes flutter closed as Logan leans in, lips parted ever so slightly. She tilts her head toward him, feeling the spark of anticipation for a brief moment. She can feel his breath on her chin as the gap between them closes, agonizingly slowly because even now, he seems unsure. Hesitant. But finally Logan gathers his courage and grazes his lips against hers, electricity coursing through both of them for the smallest of seconds until the door to Logan's room bangs open and Kendall Knight strides in.

Camille and Logan spring apart, moment ruined, both blushing deeply.

"S—sorry," Kendall half stutters, half laughs. He turns his laugh into a hasty cough as Camille and Logan both glare at him. "Should I come back?"

"No," Camille rolls her eyes and slides off of Logan's bed, messing with her hair again and uncapping the water bottle once more. "I'll see you guys in group."

When the door shuts behind her Kendall grins at Logan. "Was I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Logan says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's exactly how I planned for our first kiss to go."

Kendall has the grace to lock apologetic. "Whoops. Sorry," he says again. "But, I mean, you could have locked the door or something."

"It's not like that's what she came in here to do," Logan says exasperatedly. "It just happened. Or, it _would_ have." He gives Kendall a pointed glare and the taller boy bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again.

"Come on," Kendall smirks. "It's almost time for group."

Logan groans but gets up from his bed to follow Kendall out the door.

True to her word, Camille talks about her concerns with having Stephanie back in her life, while Jo frets over the upcoming trial, and Kendall voices his internal struggle over whether he should start speaking to his dad again. Their doctor makes them play a team-building game in which they all have to join hands and criss-cross over and under each other until they're untangled. It's great fun, for the most part, except that James' hands are really sweaty, and that Carlos isn't as flexible as he needs to be in order to get this done, and that Logan can't help but stare at all the scars on Lucy's arms now that they're in such close proximity. Her shirt rides up a little bit in the struggle and he can see some on her stomach too, and he doesn't know why, but for some reason those make him much sadder than the visible ones.

When their doctor leaves them for their half-hour of unsupervised bonding time, the group sits on the floor with each other, not saying much, and not really needing to.

After a minute or two, James speaks.

"My therapist says I only have to do two more weekends after this," he says, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Kendall sits up quickly. "Really?"

"I'll still have to meet with her every week. But I won't have to spend the entire weekend here anymore."

"That's awesome, James," Jo congratulates him. "It's gonna be great for you."

"How?" James snorts. "I'll just go back to spending my weekends with my crazy mom or my moron of a stepmom. You guys are my only real friends now, so what good will it do me to not be in here anymore?"

"You'll be able to have a real life again," Lucy murmurs, sitting cross-legged on the ground, eyes downcast as she refuses to meet James' gaze.

"You guys _are _my real life."

* * *

><p>"If there's a problem at home preventing you from being more open—"<p>

"There isn't."

Lucy crosses her arms defiantly and looks right into her doctor's eyes. She's kind of fascinated with how good a liar she's become. Or maybe it's that telling the lie so many times to so many people has made her stop realizing she's even lying.

"I just feel that as time has gone on, you've become even more distant with me than usual," says the woman. "Resistance is to be expected, especially from someone your age, but overall, I would have hoped to have made more progress with you at this point in your treatment, especially since, being eighteen, your presence here is largely voluntary."

She fidgets in her seat uncomfortably for a moment but says nothing else.

"But we have noticed the improvement in your cutting," her doctor comments gently. "It's not nearly as bad as before, am I right?"

"Right," Lucy mutters.

"And I believe I'm right in assuming that the friendships you've made with your group have a lot to do with that?"

"Carlos and James, mostly," she says, finally looking up at Dr. Witter. "I mean, we're all friends. But I'm closest to them."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know," Lucy shrugs. "I guess because… in spite of how different they are, they're really kind of the same. At least, to me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Carlos is crazy. He's reckless and always up for anything new. He'll do anything to make someone laugh. People think he's dumb, but he can be really insightful when he wants to be. He's sensitive. He cares about people's feelings. And James… he's more reserved. He doesn't like making a fool of himself, and he puts on a show of acting more mature than he actually is. But he can definitely be a goofball too, you just have to coax it out of him first."

"So what makes them so similar?"

Lucy thinks for a minute, trying to figure out how to express what she feels about them. "The fact that they'd do anything for each other, and for Logan and Kendall. They cling to each other like nothing I've ever seen. I've never had friends like that. So even though they're all monumentally different, that's the one thing that unites them. And recently… James and Carlos have started to include me in that. They let me into their world even though I don't do the same for them. I don't deserve it—I don't deserve them—but they don't treat me any different."

"You shouldn't feel as if you don't deserve to be treated well, Lucy," Dr. Witter says. "Regardless of your personal life, you should never feel that you don't deserve to be loved by your friends."

"But I don't," Lucy protests before she can stop herself. "They do everything, they _are _everything for me, and I can't give them back the same! They _love _me and I can't reciprocate it. I don't know how."

"Now, when you say they love you, do you mean romantically?"

Lucy nods.

"And do you feel the same way? About either of them?"

"I don't-" She starts. "I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I don't trust…" Lucy stops again, wringing her hands.

"You don't trust them not to hurt you?" Dr. Witter guesses.

"No," she says firmly. "Not them. Me. I don't trust myself not to hurt them."

"Why is that?"

"Because that's what I do," Lucy shrugs. "I don't get close to people. Especially not guys. No one can get hurt if you don't have any expectations."

"Would this refusal to get close to anyone have anything to do with the incident that happened when you were fourteen?" Dr. Witter refers to Lucy's file, flipping through a few pages until she finds the notes she's looking for.

Lucy's heart skips a beat and some images flash through her head that she can't suppress. Jack slamming her bedroom door, throwing her on the bed. She struggles, but he's too strong. He pins her down and she's scared and she knows what's about to happen and she can't do anything about it. He's too close and then it hurts and he's ignoring her tears and her cries of pain and he just keeps going until she thinks she might break and it's worse than anything he's ever done to her before—all the times when he's touched her or made her touch him—worse than anything she could ever imagine and she feels so utterly, utterly helpless.

She blinks and looks up. Of course, this is not what Dr. Witter is referring to. She's referring to the lie Lucy told her. The one where she was dating an older boy who pressured her to have sex with him before she was ready. The one where the boy dumped her shortly after.

Lucy shrugs and looks down again.

"Being over-sexualized at a young age can have serious repercussions on a girl's emotional development," Dr. Witter says gently. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Lucy. It was out of your control. He took advantage of your feelings and talked you into something you weren't ready for."

Lucy continues wringing her hands, listening to her therapist give her advice on something that isn't even applicable to her. Jack didn't talk her into anything. He _made_ her. But she can't tell anyone that. She's too ashamed. Ashamed that she lets him do this to her, that she's powerless to stop it.

"I wasn't entirely truthful," Lucy mumbles, closing her eyes to block out her surroundings. "He didn't manipulate me. He didn't just talk me into sleeping with him. He forced me to. I said no and it didn't matter."

"He raped you."

Lucy nods miserably.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Jo Taylor."

Dr. Witter frowns for a moment, trying to place the name. Then a look of understanding crosses her face. "I see. Well that does change the details of our discussion, but in essence, there are a few main things that are the same."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that being forced into something you weren't ready for has seriously affected your emotional stability and your self-esteem and your perception of yourself. You engage in sexual activity with men because you don't understand what kind of emotional attention you're looking for. You want to feel loved, but you don't know what that actually feels like, especially because you don't see your own self-worth. And until you recognize that, you won't be able to truly love anyone else."

"But how am I… how do I do that?"

"It takes time," says Dr. Witter kindly. "But you have to learn to trust. Trust yourself and trust others."

"And what am I supposed to do about Carlos and James? I keep going back and forth between them and they say it's not messing with them, but I know it is. I'm going to ruin their friendship."

"Honestly, Lucy, I can't tell you what to do. You have to follow what's in your heart. But I would advise against anymore sexual activity—with either of them—until you can sort out your feelings. You base your relationships on sex, which is fleeting, rather than give yourself time to see if you can make a deeper connection. Maybe because you're scared, or maybe because that's all you've ever known. But either way, _you _have to start to take control, and only you have the power to tell yourself what you want."

* * *

><p>At dinner that night, Jo watches Camille closely. She knows her roommate has a weigh-in this weekend, and those always stress the thin girl out, nearly to the point of break down. Camille drinks glasses of water as if she's a camel, trying to store it all away and hold onto it. But her food—she's falling into her old habits. Chewing ridiculously slowly. Cutting up her meat and pushing it around her plate. Bringing food to her lips and then suddenly joining the conversation, acting as if she's merely been distracted from her dinner rather than purposely ignoring it.<p>

"Camille, you need to eat something," Jo says quietly.

"What?" Camille questions innocently. "I have been."

"No, you haven't. I've been watching you."

Logan looks over at the two girls, raising his eyebrow at Camille. Slowly, Camille spears a piece of chicken with her fork, staring down at it malevolently, and raises it to her mouth. She chews it for much longer than necessary, wishing she could spit it out, but Jo and Logan's actions have alerted the others to her silent struggle, so with much regret, she swallows the bite of food and follows it with some water.

This seems to satisfy Kendall and Lucy, who return to their discussion on the evolution of Coldplay, and Carlos and James, who go back to antagonizing each other by stealing bits of food and elbowing each other every time they try to take a drink.

Logan and Jo aren't so easily placated.

By the time everyone finishes their meals, Camille still has more than half of her dinner in front of her. Logan's hand rests on her knee reassuringly and she focuses on it, feeling its soft weight pressing on her. Everyone stays at the table with her in solidarity, even though it's free time now and Carlos had wanted to go outside and play basketball. But he doesn't even glance toward the door longingly or fidget around like he usually does when he's bored.

Bit by bit, Camille eats her dinner, both hating them all for forcing this on her and loving them fiercely for caring. They're all the last ones in the dining hall by far, and their free hour is almost up by the time Camille swallows her last bite, but no one minds having spent their time like this, knowing that the girl has had many ups and downs where her recovery is concerned.

Logan takes her hand as they walk out of the dining hall, linking his fingers with hers, ignoring the shifty grins shot at him by Carlos and James and the smirk that Kendall—who's probably remembering how he walked in on them earlier—has on his face.

Camille's stomach is in knots from dinner, and as much as she hates it, hates admitting it to herself, she wishes she hadn't eaten it. She wishes she could get rid of it. _It's not fair, _she thinks, squeezing Logan's hand subconsciously. It shouldn't be this hard. But weigh-ins stress her out because they force her to think about her eating habits, and being stressed makes her want to shut down and stop eating. So the very thing that's supposed to be helping her keep track of her recovery is something that makes her wish Stephanie had never gone to her dad and told him what was going on with her. It's such a fucking catch-22, and she doesn't know how to break the cycle.

And honestly, she's not sure what she wants more—to reach her goal weight for the doctors, or to still be under it.

But she can't say that out loud to anyone. Not her friends and especially not her doctors. They'll just think she's crazy. That maybe she needs more intense treatment than they're currently giving her, and that's the last thing she wants. The worst part is that Camille knows she needs the help; she just isn't sure she wants it.

There are some days when she feels invincible. Days when calories don't matter and her portions aren't controlled and she doesn't want to immediately lock herself in the bathroom and empty herself away. Days when she's just _Camille _and she's normal and she lives an utterly ordinary existence with her dad and her friends and her homework.

But there are also days when she's anxious. When she's nervous and she feels _heavy _and she looks in the mirror and all she can see is the fact that her ribs don't show as much they used to and how she can pinch fat around her hips and thighs. Those are the days when she gets migraines and shaky hands and maybe even blurry vision but none of those _matter _because restricting her food intake is the most important thing, except maybe for worrying about how she's going to get away with it.

Logan stoops down to hug her before he follows Kendall to their room for the night, and Camille briefly kisses his cheek before going into her own room, where she frets about the next morning's weigh-in. Jo shows signs of wanting to talk about it, so Camille pretends to be preoccupied with writing in her journal and going over her meal plan until her roommate turns over and goes to sleep.

Camille turns out the light, trying not to focus on her wooden limbs or her full stomach or the fact that the bathroom is only feet away and if she wanted to, she could creep out of bed and lock the door before kneeling in front of the porcelain toilet that is both her savior and her captor.

Even as she's thinking, _No, no, no, _Camille silently eases her feet to the floor, being careful not to stumble over anything on her way across the room. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest, and she's sure that any second now, its rhythmic beat, frantic with anxiety, will wake Jo. She holds her breath until she feels the cool tile beneath her bare feet, closing the door as quietly as possible before turning on the light. Its powerful florescence blinds her momentarily and she squeezes her eyes shut against the harsh glare, groping for the doorknob so she can click the lock.

The bathroom is small, consisting of one toilet, one shower with a plain beige curtain, and a sink over which hangs a grimy mirror. Camille looks at the toilet, agonizing over whether she's really about to do what she thinks she is. She takes a step forward, then pauses, listening hard. She thinks she heard the bed creaking, the cheap mattress and frame groaning as Jo turns over in her sleep. Taking a gulp of air, Camille grabs her toothbrush from the holder on the sink and clutches it to her chest, still not positive that she knows what she's doing.

The bed creaks again, and Camille freezes, terrified. She lifts the lid on the toilet and sits on the ground, staring at it from a few feet away. It's been so long since she's done this; since that time she had dinner at Stephanie's house. Weeks and weeks of progress down the drain, and for what? Because she's scared of her weigh-in?

The thin girl draws her knees up and rests her forehead against them, closing her eyes as she argues with herself.

_You're supposed to be getting healthy. _

I'm fine, she tells herself. I'm doing fine.

_You don't need to do this. _

I just feel so **heavy. **I want it to stop.

_You need help. _

I know I do, she thinks. But I don't want it.

While she's wrestling with herself she doesn't hear the squeaky mattress telling her that Jo has woken up and noticed the bathroom light from the door, so she nearly has a heart attack when the soft knock followed by Jo's sleepy voice sound from the bedroom.

"Camille? Are you okay?" Her voice is muffled but she sounds worried.

Camille doesn't respond right away. How can she? She's far from okay. Her heart races against her ribcage and her lungs feel like they're working hard to force oxygen through her body.

"Camille?" Jo knocks again, louder this time and there's a note of panic in her tone.

"Y-yeah," Camille chokes out from her spot on the floor. She balls her fingers into fists, squeezing hard, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, forcing her to focus on the present. Her eyes are shut tight; she feels like she might be drowning inside herself.

"What's going on in there?" Jo demands. "Are you sick?"

"No…"

Jo jiggles the doorknob, attempting to get inside the bathroom. "Camille. Can you open the door?"

Camille shakes her head, forgetting that Jo can't see her.

"You're scaring me, Cam! Open the door or I'm going to go get someone!"

Still clutching her toothbrush, Camille crawls toward the door and reaches up to unclick the lock, at which point Jo flings it open to find her roommate hugging her knees and nearly in tears. Jo kneels down and wraps her arms around the distressed girl, who's shaking in her anxiety and breathing shallowly.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Jo asks.

"Need help," Camille says into Jo's shoulder, wringing her hands together.

"Okay. Okay, let me go get a nurse—" Jo starts.

"No!" Camille cries, fretful. "Logan. Get Logan."

"Camille, I can't leave you here alone—"

"Please," she begs. "Not a nurse."

Jo struggles with herself for moment before making a decision. "Okay. Just… I'll be right back, okay?"

Camille nods as Jo lets go of her, shaking and still short of breath. She's starting to see spots on the edges of her vision and she's feeling nauseated; she barely notices when Jo runs out of the room in a panic. Her stomach's churning now and even though this is what she came in here to do, she thinks, this is not what she wants. This wasn't supposed to happen, but now she has no choice because the bile is rising in her esophagus and her eyes are watering and she doesn't need to stick her toothbrush down her throat, not this time.

She grips the edge of the toilet seat, feeling dizzy, and retches into it once, twice, three times before she feels even marginally better, though her eyes and nose are running and she still feels shaky and anxious and where is Jo? She's supposed to be getting help, why isn't she back yet?

The moment she thinks it the bathroom door is flung wide open again and Jo rushes back in with Logan at her heels. Camille is still kneeling over the toilet when they find her, trying to fight down another wave of nausea. Logan stoops down beside her, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, while Jo gets a damp washcloth for her face and flushes the toilet, looking terribly sad for Camille.

"I didn't want to," Camille cries, feeling the need to justify herself. "I mean, I did, at first, but I wasn't going to—it was an accident—" Even as she says it, she realizes the toothbrush is lying inches away from her and they'll have no reason to believe her, which makes her shake even harder. "I was just thinking about it and I panicked—couldn't breathe—" She babbles on, hoping that she's making some sense.

"Shh, it's okay, it's fine. Just breathe for me, okay? You're all right. You're safe." Logan keeps a steady stream of soothing words until Camille is able to calm down.

"What happened?" Jo looks pale and frightened. "Did you feel sick?"

"Panic attack," Camille murmurs. "I just came in here—I was going to—but then I tried talking myself out of it—and I couldn't breathe or see—got dizzy."

"Full sentences, Cam," Logan says gently. "Start from the beginning, okay?"

Camille laughs internally. When was the beginning? When she started panicking? When she got out of bed and crept into the bathroom with the intent to purge her meal? Or when she finished that last bite of dinner?

"I felt too full," she starts quietly. "I didn't want to get weighed with all that inside me… It was too much, I'm too heavy."

"Camille…" A hundred expressions are etched into Jo's face, from worried to sad to exhausted and even frustrated.

"I wanted to throw it up, and I wanted to _not want _to do it," the brunette continues on as if she hasn't heard the blonde girl in the corner. "I was thinking about weighing too much tomorrow and about disappointing everyone if I haven't gained enough and I just… froze up. I couldn't breathe, and I got dizzy, and I ended up throwing up anyway. I tried to stop it; I just couldn't, it was too late. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Logan says, still rubbing her back while they sit on the floor of the bathroom. "It's not your fault. Look at me! It's _not _your fault."

"What's wrong with me?" Camille asks. "Why can't I just be done with this?"

"This is normal," he tells her. "It's not a smooth road, okay? You just have to keep in mind that there _are_ good days in all the bad."

"I'm just tired of having bad days." It comes out as a whisper but both Logan and Jo hear her clearly through the silence of the late night.

"Come on," Logan says. "You should get some sleep. I bet all the adrenaline has rushed out of you."

Camille nods tiredly and allows the boy to pull her to feet and guide her back to bed. He leans over and brushes her hair off her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to her temple, smiling at her when she closes her eyes.

Jo steps out into the hallway with him. "Thanks for coming. I didn't know what to do… She was freaking out and she didn't want me to get a nurse. She just wanted you."

"Don't worry about it. I just wish there was something else I could do."

"You've done a lot," Jo assures him. "You don't want to know how bad it was before you got here. She didn't have panic attacks, but she was always either starving or in a binge and purge cycle. And I was too preoccupied with myself to bother trying to help."

"You feel guilty about that?"

"I didn't know how to deal with myself… so I just didn't. And that meant that I didn't deal with anyone else either. No one else's problems mattered to me. Nothing mattered. I wanted to just be numb… Anyway, thanks again."

"No problem. 'Night, Jo."

"Good night."

Jo gives Logan a quick hug before ducking back into her room with Camille, who is already breathing deeply, looking much more peaceful in her sleep than she did just minutes ago, when she was kneeling on the floor, shaking and practically sobbing. As she climbs into bed, Jo wonders if she did the right thing by going to Logan instead of getting an adult. Logan _did _help, she reminds herself. But still. If Camille is hiding her breakdowns from the staff, how is she ever supposed to really get better?

* * *

><p>Camille sits nervously on an uncomfortable chair while a doctor goes over her records. She wrings her hands together out of sheer anxiety, wanting to get this over with and not knowing what to expect when she steps on the scale. There are three other girls waiting with her, and they all sit in glum silence as they await their fate.<p>

"You can come with me now, Camille," says a nurse.

The exhausted girl gets to her feet and follows the nurse down a long hallway to where she knows the scale stands ominously, and she knows that no matter what the number is, it won't be the right one.

If it's too low, she's a failure.

If it's too high, well, that's also a failure, though she's not supposed to see it that way.

"Step up here, now."

Camille does as she's told, watching as the nurse moves the dial until it's balanced to the proper weight. She looks in agony at the number before her. Feelings of simultaneous relief and horror fill her as the nurse says what she already knows.

"You seem to have lost two pounds since your last weigh in, Camille."

She steps down from the scale, disappointed that she hasn't met her goal, and yet _glad _for the very same reason, and then disappointed all over again because this isn't supposed to make her happy.

Camille says nothing to the nurse, who marks down Camille's weight in her file before leaving her to wait for the doctor, who joins her momentarily. She's an older woman, with slightly graying hair and a patient disposition.

"We've had a minor setback," says Dr. Chang gently, watching as Camille stares at the floor.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. But I can't say I'm not concerned about you, dear. Even if you're not gaining weight, we would hope that at the very least, you wouldn't have lost any. Would you like to talk about anything?"

"Like what?"

"Anything at all. How do you feel?"

"Like a failure," Camille whispers. "Like I can't do anything right."

"You are not a failure," Dr. Chang says firmly. "Not by any means. But you can't change yourself if you don't want to, Camille. We can sit here and I can lecture you about your health until I'm blue in the face—about the strain your body is under, your anemia, heart rate, blood pressure, the fact that you haven't had a period in fourteen months. But I know as well as you do that all of it will go in one ear and out the other as long as you continue to believe that you don't deserve to recover from this disorder."

Camille lets the words wash over her, not saying anything more, dreading that Dr. Chang will be forced to put her in in-patient treatment.

As if reading her mind, the woman continues. "I'm not going to drag you into more intensive treatment, Camille."

"You're not?"

"No. Because despite this setback, and despite the fact that I know you still have some rough days, from the notes I've gathered from your therapist and your group instructor, I believe you're headed for a breakthrough. And I would like to see you reach it on your own, not under the microscope of in-patient therapy."

"You really think I can?" Camille asks in disbelief.

"I do," Dr. Chang replies. "With the support of your friends and family, yes. I believe you'll be able to find it within yourself. All you need to do is find the reason why recovery would be worth it. Find that reason, and never lose sight of it."

Camille nods, murmuring to herself. "Find the reason…"

* * *

><p><strong>Wow. I suck, I know. It's been awhile. I promise promise promise I'm not giving upabandoning this story, and I made another promise to myself not to work on anymore drabbles or one-shots until I work through this. No more distractions!**

**I'm still laying out the rest of the chapters so that I can hopefully expedite the process of getting this thing completed. I know where I want to end, and I have certain things that need to happen; it's just a matter of executing. **

**So I'm super sorry that I've been MIA for like 6 weeks, but I love you all and hope that you will still drop me a review, even if it's to yell at me for being a terrible updater. **

**And I officially moved my blog to a new URL so if you're on tumblr, follow me at xo-wintershine and I'll follow you back! Thanks everyone! Please let me know what you thought, what's missing, what you want to see happen, etc! I love hearing from y'all. **


	13. I Forgive You

**Glad to be getting this one up a bit sooner than the last one! Hope you guys like it and please please review! It's quite a bit longer than the last couple of chapters. And thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You can message me here or on my tumblr anonymously if you have any questions or want to harass me :)**

* * *

><p><em>For all these years, you've lived under the illusion that, somehow, you made it because you were tough enough to overpower the abuse, the hatred, the hard knocks of life. But really you made it because love is so powerful that tiny little doses of it are enough to overcome the pain of the worst things life can dish out. — Rachel Reilan<em>d

* * *

><p>Chapter 13: I Forgive You<p>

_I forgive you, I forgive me  
>Now, when do I start to feel again?<em>

* * *

><p>When Kendall walks in to yet another message on the answering machine from his father, he starts to think that maybe he's ignored him long enough. At the sound of the beep signaling the end of the message, Kendall hesitates before deleting it. He first scribbles down the number on a post-it note and shoves it into his pocket for later, then listens to the message one more time. Really listens to the way his father sounds nervous and kind of sad, like maybe he's starting to give up hope that his kids will ever speak to him again. <em>Not that he deserves it, <em>Kendall thinks defiantly.

Finally, he does delete it, though, patting his pocket and going upstairs to his room, where he plops down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling for awhile. He thinks of calling Logan to talk this out, but remembers how touchy he got the last time Kendall tried to talk about his dad and decides against it. He could always talk to Jo, but she's been so consumed with giving her deposition to the lawyers and going over her case for Jett's trial that Kendall doesn't want to burden her with this just yet. At least, not until after the Jett Stetson thing is over and done with and he's in jail.

After who knows how long of Kendall going back and forth in his head and staring at the phone number scrawled in his long, messy writing, he hears Katie come in through the front door, having been dropped off by her ride. He puts the number back in his pocket and makes to go downstairs to greet his sister, but before he can get up, she's barging into his room without knocking or anything.

"Katie!" Kendall frowns. "You can't just come in here whenever you feel like it!"

"I'm sorry, did you need some _alone _time?"

"What? No! What are you-? You know what, never mind. I don't want to know how you thought to ask me that question." The boy shudders lightly, growing uncomfortable at the small smirk his sister's giving him.

"You _really_ should password-protect your computer, big bro," Katie says, her smile widening. "You never know when your poor, innocent sister might need to borrow it for project. Just think what she might _accidentally _stumble upon while her brother, who she _idolizes_, is away for the weekend…"

"Ughhh, Katie!"

Katie only grins as Kendall's face grows red and he sputters incoherently about doing research for health and anatomy and demon sisters sent to destroy the planet.

"Don't worry, big brother. I'm in sixth grade; nothing can shock me. Just, in the future, if you could at least put your stuff in a folder that's not immediately visible, I would appreciate that."

"Deal," Kendall agrees quickly. "If _you _promise to start knocking before you come in here. _And _asking before you use my computer!"

"Fine, fine. Anyway, I came in here to tell you that mom's not working late tonight and I think we should make dinner for her."

"How considerate of you."

"Come onnnn," she prods him until he gets up and goes down to the kitchen with her.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that she caught you playing online poker again, would it?" Kendall asks shrewdly.

"What?" Katie says with feigned innocence. "Can't I, a loving and thoughtful daughter, suggest to my responsible and caring older brother that we do something nice for mom without my motives being questioned?"

"No," scoffs her brother. "Especially when it's this close to your birthday."

"Your lack of faith in me stings."

"Whatever. So what are we making?"

"Spaghetti," Katie replies. "All we have to do is make the noodles and warm up the Prego sauce. Easy."

"Of course it sounds easy," Kendall rolls his eyes. "Since you're not allowed to use the stove and I'll have to do everything."

Katie sticks her tongue out at Kendall and goes to the pantry to retrieve the necessary items, handing them over with a grin. Kendall ruffles her hair and takes out the pots and pans he'll need, not letting her see that he's smiling, too.

Mrs. Knight is pleasantly surprised to find the table set and her kids sitting quietly together in the living room when she arrives home from a long shift at the restaurant. Kendall thinks she might cry from emotion, so he's pretty pleased with himself (and his sister) for saving his mom at least one night of having to worry about them.

After dinner is finished and the table is clear and the dishes are washed and put away, Kendall shuts himself back in his room, again looking at the number written on the scrap of paper in his pocket. He pulls out his cell phone and types the number in, but doesn't yet push the button to connect the call; he still isn't sure he's ready for this. But he thinks of Logan, whose own dad won't even put forth this much effort to understand the son he actually lives with, and he thinks of James, who reluctantly spends every weekend with _his _dad, who is too wrapped up in his hot new wife to pay much attention to James.

So, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a whoosh, Kendall connects the call and listens to the phone ring once, twice, three times…

"_Hello?" _

Kendall freezes. He didn't plan what he was going to say, he has no idea what to talk about. He wanted to yell at Mark Knight, to make him feel bad for walking out on his family, for not giving a damn for the last half a year when Kendall was in the hospital and in therapy, for missing Katie's elementary school graduation. But all of that seems to flee his mind now that he's here.

"_Kendall?" _

"H-Hi, Dad." Kendall clears his throat to shake off the quaver in his voice. This was stupid. He wants to hang up.

"_Thank you for calling, son." _

"Uhh… yeah. Sure. You're welcome."

"_Have you and Katie been getting my messages?" _

"I have," Kendall tells him. "Katie only knows about the very first one."

"_I see… Is—is she-?"_

"She's not here. She doesn't know I'm calling. Neither does Mom," he adds in.

"_Okay. Okay. I, um, I just wanted to—to apologize for not…" _

"For not checking in on me at all?" Kendall interrupts, his anger coming back. "For not coming to see me _once _after I was in the hospital? For not calling me this whole time that I've been spending my weekends in therapy?"

"_Kendall—"_

"It's fine, Dad." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, wanting to hang up the phone. Instead, he sits there, seething in silence.

"_I didn't think you wanted to hear it from me, son. I thought you'd be better off without me complicating things further. I was wrong, obviously, and I am truly sorry for that. I just didn't think you needed anything from me." _

"I _didn't _need anything from you," Kendall says. "What I needed was for you to care about me."

"_Son, I—" _

Mr. Knight pauses and Kendall can hear the emotion in his voice and as suddenly as it flared up, his anger dissipates.

"It's okay, Dad."

"_No, it isn't. I should have—"_

"No. Really. It's okay. I'm okay," Kendall hears himself say. And he's surprised to find that he means it.

"_Do you want—can you tell me about it?" _

And so, he does. Kendall stays on the phone with his dad for nearly an hour, talking about the beginning of senior year and drinking too much and getting kicked off the hockey team. He talks about getting his stomach pumped at the hospital and how Katie got him to go to therapy, and he tells Mr. Knight about Logan and the boys, and about Jo, and about how well Katie's doing in school.

When he's done, he feels a sense of relief flood through him, a lightness inside him that he hasn't felt in a long time. He hangs up the phone, promising to call again in a few days, not without noting the nagging in the back of his head that he needs to tell Logan he was right. All he had to do was give his dad a chance. This could be good. Better, even. This could be great. Sure, he's definitely old enough to know that his parents will never get back together and Mr. Knight won't magically come home and rejoin the family, but he still wants to be part of their lives. All Kendall had to do was let him.

* * *

><p>"You know how I hate to say 'I told you so,'" Logan grins at lunch the next day. "But…"<p>

"Just say it," Kendall throws a French fry at the boy across from him, who picks it off his sleeve and eats it casually, ignoring how Camille wrinkles her nose at the unsanitary action.

"Well, I _did _tell you so," Logan says smugly.

"Right, right. All hail _Hortence, _resident genius extraordinaire!"

"All hail Hortence!" Everyone at the table says this loudly, causing several people nearby to look over at them and Logan to hang his head, cheeks reddening.

"Don't call me that!"

* * *

><p>Kendall's good mood carries him through the next day, enough that on Tuesday night, with his mom working the night shift at diner, and Katie spending the night at a friend's house, he decides to invite Jo over for a dinner-date type evening.<p>

Things have been so good between them that sometimes he forgets that they're supposed to be crazy. At least, that's how everyone at school sees them. Alcoholic Kendall and Jo Taylor, girl of zero words, two former popular kids who would have ruled the school had it not been for the fact that they met in therapy. Kendall, with his jock status, and Jo, a cheerleader, both blond and All-American and picture-perfect.

But the way other people see him has never mattered to Kendall. Not since going into therapy, at least. Not since a very public breakdown sent him to the hospital and he was forced, finally, to take a long look in the mirror and realize that he needed to stop living for everyone else—for the hockey team, for his coaches, teachers, and yes, even his mom and Katie.

And then there's Jo, of course. Bubbly little Jo who suddenly went silent and is just now beginning to find her voice again. He prefers this new Jo to the one he first knew in therapy. The girl who doesn't look terrified when any male approaches, who doesn't flinch away from physical contact, who isn't afraid to argue with him and tell him when he's being a pain in the ass—which he is, he knows. But usually it's for the simple pleasure of having Jo tell him off.

After they enjoy a romantic dinner of Chinese takeout (because, hey, he's a teenage boy, not a five star chef), Kendall and Jo settle into the living room to watch some old DVD they've both seen a dozen times. Kendall grins when Jo recites her favorite parts along with the DVD. She doesn't even realize she's doing it until Kendall joins in and recites the next line.

He's forcefully reminded of Katie when she sticks her tongue out at him and he bites back a laugh; soon however, all thoughts of his sister flee from his mind because Jo's tilting her head up and he's leaning down towards her and their eyes are falling closed as their lips and tongues move against each other.

Teenage hormones racing through his system, he doesn't notice the way Jo's body stiffens up when he presses his chest against hers.

Meanwhile, Jo allows him to lay her down on the couch, kissing her neck and her collarbone and every so often moving back up to her mouth, which she fights to control to keep silent. She keeps her eyes closed and though she wants to stop him, to scream, to claw at him and push him off, she has to remind herself that it's Kendall. It's Kendall, her boyfriend—her patient, caring boyfriend who doesn't deserve to be treated like someone she's scared of. He's not Jett. He's not Jett. He's not Jett.

Kendall knows, somewhere in the deepest, farthest back part of his mind, that he's probably pushing his luck right now, but he's a _boy_ after all, and things are getting away from him and he likes the feel of her beneath him and there's blood kind of rushing from his brain to his groin, causing him to lose all common sense, which he hopes she doesn't notice, because Jesus, this feels good and he isn't ready to stop yet.

_He's not Jett. He's not Jett. He's not Jett. _

And suddenly, he is Jett. He's Jett and she's trapped beneath him and she can feel his hardness against her thigh and his hand slipped under her shirt and this is too far, way too far, and she needs out.

"_Stop, stop, stop! Get away from me!"_ It comes out as a kind of hysterical shriek and Jo instinctively raises a knee to Kendall's crotch in order to get him off her, not realizing that he had frozen from the moment she first said 'stop.'

Kendall lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a hiss of pain as he curls up on the floor, paralyzed from Jo's well-aimed knee.

It's that noise that snaps Jo back into the present. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, Kendall I am _so_ sorry! I don't know what happened, I just panicked, and oh my God, are you okay?"

Kendall continues to lie on the floor, gritting his teeth, barely hearing her words because of the pain he's currently experiencing.

"'M fine," he mumbles, looking anything but.

"No, no you're not, oh God, I'm sorry," Jo says frantically. "Here—"

She goes to help him up and guides him back to the couch, stammering apologies.

"Jo! Stop. It's fine. It's not your fault; I got carried away."

"No, it is, I shouldn't have—I just—I thought—"

"You thought I was him," Kendall finishes for her quietly and though he tries his best, he can't quite hide the look of hurt on his face.

"I'm sorry," Jo whispers miserably. "I don't—I wanted—"

"You don't have to explain," he says soothingly, taking her hand. He's relieved when she doesn't pull away. "Look, I'm sorry too, okay? I should have stayed in control of myself. This isn't your fault; it's mine."

"No, it's… This is stupid," she sighs. "I don't want to be afraid of you."

"It's not stupid. And you know you don't have to be. But you can't control how you feel, Jo," Kendall tells her. "You just… feel it. Until you're ready to let it go."

"It won't always be like this," she says determinedly. "Once this stupid trial is over and I put all of this behind me."

* * *

><p>Logan wonders how long it will take his dad to notice that he's being given the silent treatment.<p>

It's been five days, and the tactic doesn't seem to be working. Mr. Mitchell seems determined to remain oblivious to his son's mood, which grows worse by the day. He is stoic and steadfast, never acknowledging Logan's huffs of indignation or sighs of melancholy or pointed glares in his direction.

Against his better judgment, Logan has been further torturing himself by reading message boards and facebook posts from fellow students who he _should _be studying with in the fall, with a hot bubble of jealousy and anger and sadness boiling inside him as they talk about their excitement for the upcoming semester and wonder about roommate assignments and registering for classes.

_It's not fair, _he thinks. _I should be there. _

He doesn't care that he's acting like a typical moody teenager. He doesn't care that his parents think they're doing what's best for him: they don't even know him. They haven't seen him for who he really is in a long time, and nothing he does is going to make them understand that.

Logan looks down at the scars on his arms that remind him every single day of what a failure he is. How he fails to impress his parents, he fails to make them listen to him…

He even failed at dying.

He doesn't want to think it, but he can't help it. It's times like these when he has to remember to breathe, to let those kinds of thoughts pass because if he dwells on them… well, it's probably best not to find out what would happen he allows himself to sink too far down. He's been there before and that was how he ended up with those scars in the first place.

And no matter what he says out loud, he knows, in the farthest back corners of his mind that it's still an option. It's an idea that sits there constantly, and the rough pleasure of knowing that the reason he lives now is by _choice, _not by accident, is exactly the same as running his tongue over the bittersweet terrain of a sour candy tucked in the back of his mouth.

He doesn't want to die.

But sometimes, he wants to not feel.

* * *

><p>"<em>You really think you'd like that?"<em>

"Yeah!" Kendall says enthusiastically. "It'll be great, Dad."

"_Fantastic. Listen, I have to go, but I'll check in again soon and we can get some of the details squared away."_

"Okay. Talk to you soon."

"_Bye, son." _

Kendall hangs up the phone with a grin that quickly slides off his face when he realizes what he's just agreed to and what Katie and his mom will say about it.

Biting his lip, he frowns and thinks hard about how to break the news to them. He should probably start by telling his mom that he'd been speaking to his father. That things were actually _good _between them now.

That he'd been invited to spend spring break with him in Vermont.

His mom might be understanding, but if he knew Katie—and he did—she wouldn't like it. She wouldn't get how Kendall could forgive the man who abandoned them to start a new life with someone else.

_She doesn't have to get it, _Kendall thinks.

So at dinner that night, when Mrs. Knight asks Kendall how his day was, he continues chewing his food slowly, not answering right away. When she and Katie look over at him expectantly, waiting for his reply, he swallows and takes a drink of water and puts his fork down.

"Well," he clears his throat. "I, uh… I talked to Dad today."

"_What?" _Katie drops her own fork onto her plate with a loud clatter.

"Honey, you talked to your father? Did he call you? What happened?"

"He first called a few weeks ago…"

Kendall tells his mother about how he spent weeks deleting the messages on the answering machine, refusing to acknowledge his dad's newfound persistence in getting in touch with him. Katie looks mutinous as Kendall talks about how he finally relented and called back, how he finally stopped feeling so _angry _at Mr. Knight, and how he thinks he might be able to really forgive him and have a real relationship again.

"That's wonderful, sweetie," says Mrs. Knight. "Forgiveness takes such strength of character."

"There's one more thing," Kendall says hesitantly. "Today, when we talked… he invited me out to visit him. In Vermont. For spring break. And, um, well… I told him I would go, if it was okay with you."

"Do you really think that's something you want to do?"

"Well… yeah. I just—I think if I don't go, I'll always wonder if maybe I made a mistake by not going."

"If this is something you really want, I won't stop you, Kendall. But I do think you should make sure you aren't rushing into anything. Make sure you make your decision for _you. _Not for him."

Katie abruptly pushes her chair back from the table and takes her plate to the sink, stomping up the stairs to her room and slamming the door. Mrs. Knight closes her eyes and rubs her temples tiredly, moving to follow Katie so she can try to get her to cool off.

"Let me," Kendall stops his mom. "I'll talk to her."

Katie ignores him when he knocks on her door, so like any good sibling, Kendall walks in anyway.

"Katie."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't you think we should?"

"Why? It's not like what I say matters. You'll just do what you want."

"That's not fair. You know I care about what you think."

Katie looks at him for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me you were talking to him? Why didn't you even tell me he was still calling?"

"I don't know," Kendall sighs, sitting down beside her on the bed. "I guess I… I didn't want to get your hopes up."

"What do you mean?"

"In case things didn't go well."

Katie falls silent, not knowing what else to say. Kendall sits with her for awhile until she figures out how to ask the question on her mind.

"How?"

Kendall frowns. "How..?"

"How can you forgive him? He abandoned us, Ken, when we needed him! He just… gave up on us and left! How can you want to see him again after all that? How you can you stand it, without wanting to yell at him and tell him that he ruined our family?"

"It's not that black and white, Kates."

"It is for me." Katie crosses her arms as if to punctuate her statement.

"Look… I'm gonna tell you something that no one else knows, okay?" Kendall nudges his sister to get her to pay attention to him. He can see that her curiosity is struggling with the desire to remain angry.

Curiosity wins.

"Fine. What?"

"One of the things my therapist told me was important about recovery is learning to accept mistakes."

"Is this like a twelve-step thing?"

"Kind of," he half smiles. "It's just that what I've been learning, that I didn't know before, is that just because you want something, that doesn't make it so. You know that saying, good things come to those who wait?" Katie nods. "My therapist told me that's crap. He told me good things happen when you work for them… So in order for me to get better, I have to accept the fact that I made mistakes, that I hurt not just myself but my family and friends too, and if I really want to change I have to make a conscious effort to be different."

"But I don't—"

"Part of the reason I got so bad," he cuts her off, "is that I was letting myself hold on to all that anger for too long. I let myself blame Dad for everything because it made me feel justified in screwing up my life. People would look at me and know I was a fuck-up, but they'd also know why. And as long as I didn't have to take any responsibility for the fact that I was getting out of control, I didn't have to change."

Kendall looks down at Katie for the first time since starting his monologue, almost afraid of her reaction to it. He knows that _she _knows what was wrong with him, but he had wanted to shield her from the all the dirty details—she's too young to have to deal with this, he would tell himself, I should be protecting her. But Katie's always been too smart and too mature for her own good. She's seen and heard things in eleven years that she never should have had to.

"The reason I want to try to forgive him isn't because he deserves it," he says quietly. "I'm not as selfless as you're making me out to be. I need to forgive him because I can't move on until I at least try. Can you understand that?"

Katie swallows and nods, wrapping her thin arms around her brother and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I can."

* * *

><p>Logan feels a slight touch of guilt for the fact that his mother is trying valiantly to get him and his father to speak to each other, to no avail. But he also feels a vindictive pleasure in being the one to do the ignoring this time. Years of them being too busy or simply too disinterested in what he had to say are manifesting now, and it finally—finally—seems to be making an impression on at least one of his parents.<p>

"How was your day, Phillip?" Mrs. Mitchell asks, bravely attempting to start a conversation at the dinner table.

As Mr. Mitchell talks, Logan stares moodily down at his plate, having no appetite and no desire to sit here and listen to small talk.

"Can I be excused?" He mutters, already halfway out of his chair.

"You may not," says Mr. Mitchell with a stony expression.

Logan has to bite his tongue to keep the retort that springs to his mouth inside. He sits back down with a defiant look.

"Look, son, this has gone on long enough," his dad tells him. "We've let you stomp around and get your aggression out over this, but it's time to move on. There are plenty of colleges in the city for you to choose from, and it's about time you stopped moping and started making some reasonable decisions about next year."

"I already _made _a decision!" Logan argues, abandoning his silent routine. "I had a plan! You're the one who ruined it!"

"We have been over this, Logan. You know very well why we can't let you go."

"No, I don't."

"Listen—"

"No, Dad! I dealt with my problem! It's in the past now and you treating me like a piece of glass isn't going to make any difference if I'm stuck here again next year! This isn't fair."

"I know that it's hard to understand—"

"You know what I think?" Logan interrupts, a sudden fury rising in his chest. "You think if you let me out of your sight again I'll try to kill myself, and I won't have anyone there to come home and save me. So instead you just want to trap me here and make sure you never have to suffer the _embarrassment _of having people know your son committed suicide."

"Logan—" his mother gasps as he stands abruptly.

"You'd think after seventeen years of disappointment, I'd be used to it by now."

He slams the door to his room, liking the crash that echoes in his ears. A rage such as Logan has never felt before courses through him. Pushed beyond his breaking point, he feels like he could snap at the tiniest thing. So when his phone beeps and a reminder flashes on the screen that it's time to take his nightly dose of anti-depressant medication, he throws it against a wall with all his might, not sorry at all that the resulting collision shatters the screen and causes it to go black. Still fuming, he goes into his bathroom to reach for the medication, uncapping the lid with more trouble than usual due to his shaky hands and frustrated state. When it finally pops open, a few of the pills sprawl across the countertop and Logan, losing all ability to think rationally, sweeps them into the toilet, dumping the rest of the pills out along with them, watching them all sink to the bottom and flushing the handle.

Breathing deeply, he throws the empty bottle into his trashcan.

* * *

><p>"James," Kendall rolls his eyes, "that's a <em>goalie's <em>mask."

"You might be fine with a black eye here and there, but my mother with throw a shit fit if anything happens to my face, Kendall." He straps the helmet in place and pats himself down, checking that all his pads are securely in place.

"You alright, Loges?" Carlos calls over to Logan, who is stepping hesitantly onto the ice, helmet and stick in hand.

"Fine," Logan says, stifling a yawn. "It's just.. I've never really played hockey before. Not since like pee-wee."

"This is _Minnesota," _Kendall exclaims incredulously. "How can you have never played hockey?"

"I was always busy with school stuff, I guess," Logan shrugs. "My friends weren't exactly the jock-types."

"But you can skate, right?" Carlos asks.

"This is _Minnesota," _Logan scoffs. "Of course I can skate. I can probably beat any one of you in a race," he says, grinning confidently for the first time since the boys agreed to come out with Kendall.

"Good," the blond boy declares. "So Logan, you'll be on my team, and Carlos you can be on pretty-boy James' team. First to ten wins."

"Shove it, Knight," James yells from the other side of the rink, where he laces up his skates. "Hope you're ready to get your ass kicked!"

"Why, you got game, Diamond?"

"Oh, I've got game." James glides over easily with an air of that old Diamond swagger that the boys haven't seen from him in a while. "Bring it on."

The boys head out to the center of ice, Kendall facing off against James.

"On three. One—two—three!"

Both sticks hit the ice at the same time but Kendall prevails, passing the puck deftly to Logan who seems not to know what to do for a second. Carlos takes off towards him and when Kendall yells "Logan, GO!" he rockets off like a bullet. He hadn't been lying, he was _fast. _Guiding the puck with his stick, Logan races towards Carlos and James' goal, but focusing on keeping the small object in front of him makes him forget to be aware of his surroundings and James comes out of nowhere, cutting him off abruptly and stealing the puck while Logan struggles to stay on his feet and not crash into the nearby wall.

James is nearly is fast as Logan, and he's already halfway to the opposite goal when the shorter boy looks up. Kendall is all that stands between them, two-on-one, and James fakes left before passing to Carlos, who shoots the goal and scores. The two boys let out whoops of celebration while Kendall retrieves the puck, his eyes narrowed.

"Alright, so you've got some game," he calls. "That just means no more going easy on you."

This time Logan faces off against Carlos, and Carlos succeeds in getting the puck to James, but almost as if Kendall can read his mind, he steals it before James can even contemplate his next move. Logan races ahead, braking suddenly when Carlos tries to block him, so that Carlos is forced to make a wide turn, leaving Logan wide open for a split second. Kendall, anticipating this, passes to Logan at just the right time, and he scores his own goal, high-fiving Kendall with a grin.

The game goes furiously on, back and forth, all four boys taking verbal digs at each other and playfully knocking each other into walls in attempt to gain the upper hand. In the end, though, Kendall's years of playing experience coupled with Logan's speed prevail 10-7 over James and Carlos, who after all is said and done, do put up a pretty good fight.

"Good game, gentlemen," Kendall says, exhaustedly, sitting down on a bench outside the rink and unstrapping his helmet. "I'd put any one of you on my team."

"Ah, shut up," Carlos grins good-naturedly. "You can't beat us and then be nice about it!"

"Yeah, besides, we'll get you next time," James says.

Logan smiles to himself, listening to their banter and rubbing his eyes tiredly. As they leave the rink, all four boys stop short, noticing Lucy sitting nearby.

"How long have you been there?" Kendall asks.

"Long enough to watch you and Logan kill these two," she replies with a smirk in James and Carlos' direction.

"Good, so you saw the most important part—the part where I won."

"_Ahem," _Logan coughs.

"We," Kendall corrects himself. "The part where we won."

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem," Kendall ignores Logan's sarcasm. "Now I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta get home and relieve the babysitter of the nightmare that is looking after my dear sister. See you guys."

"Bye."

Logan likewise heads for home, looking over his shoulder as Lucy stands in front of James and Carlos.

Lucy watches until both boys disappear around the corner before turning back to the two before her. Neither one says anything, both waiting for her to let them know why she came. She can feel their questions burning into her. Who is she here to see?

Who does she choose?

She glances at James with an apologetic look on her face before looking back at Carlos, who stares back silently. He doesn't want to, but he understands. James blinks rapidly a few times, waiting for her to say something—anything—that will justify her choice, why she would choose Carlos over him. _But this wasn't a competition, _he reminds himself. _This was never about me vs. him._ So rather than make her say it, he gives her an out.

"Right, well, I've gotta get home too. My stepmom wants us to try and bond or something," he makes up the first excuse he can think of. I'll, um, see you guys at school."

He claps Carlos on the shoulder, his own form of silent congratulation, and walks away from them with shallow breath and a pang in his chest that is much larger than he would care to admit at the moment. He's not exactly sure what he was expecting. What? That he and Lucy had some sort of connection just because he drove her home from a party one time? Because she kissed him outside her doorstep? Because they'd had what he considered to be pretty amazing sex, several times, at his house?

Or because he asked her to talk to him if she felt like hurting herself? Or better yet… because she actually did talk to him?

_I was stupid, _James thinks, _to believe we had a real chance at something. _She and Carlos… they fit. They have a history together.

_But we could have a future, _says that nagging voice in his head.

He glances back one last time, just in time to see Carlos enveloping Lucy in a tight hug. He was stupid to have thought this could happen and nothing would change between him and Carlos. A small surge of anger washes through him, but it's nothing like before. He doesn't feel suddenly blinded by rage like he used to, he doesn't feel like snapping. It's not even anger directed at Carlos, or at Lucy. It's anger at himself. Why wasn't he enough for her?

What he does feel, though, is lost because no matter what he and Carlos agreed on, he's not sure how he can see the two of them together and still be friends with both of them. The two people he'd do _anything _for, the two people he'd die to make happy… the only two people whose happiness might actually kill him.

But somehow, he has a feeling that this isn't the end of it.

* * *

><p>"Lucy—"<p>

"Don't ask."

"But I thought—"

"Carlos, seriously. Don't ask. Either keep going or get off me."

He does contemplate it, for a brief moment. Maybe he'll surprise her and just say no, not tonight. Not right now. But her hands are running down his chest, lower and lower to his belt buckle, and she looks so sexy when she licks her lips like that, and he _wants _to stop and make her talk to him, but she's too good and he's too weak, and who knows when he'll ever get this chance again because it's not every day that he has the whole house to himself.

He can ask her about the new cuts later, right? There's no point in trying to make her talk about something that she's not ready for. She chose him for a reason, after all.

So he gives in and lets her remove his shirt and his jeans, laying back and watching while she strips her own clothes off and lets them pile at the foot of his bed.

"Will they be out long?" She asks, unclasping her bra and dropping it to the floor.

Carlos pulls her towards him, nuzzling her neck. "Few hours," he murmurs. "They're at my brother's academic decathlon thing."

"Good."

Lucy kisses him deeply, slipping her tongue past his parted lips as both of them let their eyes drift shut. Carlos snakes his arm around her lower back, holding her against him as the friction and heat build between them. He continues to press kisses down her neck, biting down and sucking on one side, marking her as his while his hands roam her body. She inhales sharply when his mouth moves lower, leaving a hot trail down her chest and stomach, not noticing how he frowns when he sees the scars littered over her. He could have sworn there weren't that many before…

Lucy lifts her hips slightly when he hooks his finger beneath the band of her underwear, allowing him to slip them off so that his fingers can work their way into the slick folds of skin, panting and writhing against him when he finds her clit and rubs circles around it. Her eyes stay clenched tightly as small whimpers of pleasure escape her throat in short bursts. _"Hnnngh… right there," _she moans. _"God, yes." _

The lust in her voice makes him ache with need for her, but he continues applying the sweet pressure to sensitive bud between her legs, coating his fingers with the warm wetness that gathers there. He picks up his speed, reaching up with his other hand to palm her breasts, trying to touch every part of her that he can. _"Fuck, Carlos." _

"Come on," he growls. "So close, baby."

Lucy's body feels alight with fire as Carlos works his fingers and she grips his hair tightly, legs shaking as the need for release begins to overtake her. She pushes up to meet him and with a noise somewhere between a groan and a yelp, Lucy's body stiffens and then stills as an orgasm wracks through her. She's still breathing heavily when Carlos kisses her again, her chest rising and falling as she tries to regain a steady heartbeat. But soon Carlos is grinding against her leg and massaging her breasts, and she can feel his arousal pressed against her, and that burning sensation in the pit of her stomach kindles again.

Carlos reaches into his bedside table, blindly groping around for the small box of condoms that he keeps there, finally locating one and ripping off the foil while Lucy pulls his boxers down and discards them. He loses focus for a moment when her hand wraps around him, but he mentally shakes himself and rolls the thin piece of rubber down his length. Lucy's hands go to his shoulders and hold him in place so she can ease herself on top of him, moving lower and lower until he's buried deep inside her. She moves slowly at first, rolling her hips down on his to build up a steady rhythm, gasping when he pushes up hard, hitting a new spot inside her.

He lets out a grunt when Lucy leaves a scratch down his chest, more out of surprise than actual pain. He feels the friction heating up between them—they're not moving so slowly anymore and things are getting rougher. Lucy's fingernails leave indentations in the skin near his collarbone and he thinks he might be gripping her waist hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, but it doesn't matter because he's sweaty and hot and breathing shallowly and his heart is about to beat out of his chest, and his toes are curled from the effort of holding himself back.

Lucy gasps his name again and he pulls her down to kiss her forcefully, feeling her walls constrict around him and shudder run through her body as she comes again, sending a deep vibration through him as well so that he finally lets go, the release he's been desperate for shooting through him violently. She slumps down on top of him, exhausted, letting him graze his fingertips over her back soothingly.

Finally she scoots off of him and when Carlos looks down at her, she smiles, but he doesn't miss how the smile never quite reaches her eyes.

* * *

><p>"<em>Try to get some rest, okay? You've been looking terrible this week,"<em> Camille teases.

"I'll keep that in mind," Logan says sarcastically. "See you tomorrow."

"_Okay. Good night."_

"Night."

Logan puts the cordless phone down, angry with himself for having broken his cell. Camille's voice rings in his head… He supposes he _has _been looking pretty terrible. He does a brief count in his head and calculates that he's probably slept about ten hours total since the big fight with his parents. He's replayed it in his head every night, hoping that somehow it would turn out different and knowing that it would be no use.

He's been so _tired _this week, but yet every night when he would get in to bed, he'd be unable to fall asleep, or else drift into a fitful, uneasy rest from which he would wake often. It had been bad enough to affect his studies this week. And bad enough for Camille to notice and say something.

_Not tonight, though, _he thinks, reaching into his bag. He pulls out a small container of over-the-counter sleeping-aid pills, determined to get a whole night's sleep tonight.

After he brushes his teeth, he crawls into bed and uncaps his bottle, bought surreptitiously from a drugstore earlier this afternoon. Logan pops two of the small pills and swallows them, closing his eyes and hoping for peace to overtake him.

It doesn't.

An hour later, he still feels as wide awake as ever, continuing to toss and turn and punch his pillow in hopes that he'll be able to find a comfortable position. Nothing works, so in desperation, Logan gropes for the bottle beside him and fishes out two more pills, not daring to think about what he'll do if this doesn't work.

Another forty minutes go by and Logan's starting to get frantic. He feels too hot, and then too cold; he's sweaty and chilly at the same time, and the weird part is that he _wants _to be asleep, his eyes want to droop shut, his body is physically spent. But it's his brain that won't shut off. He can't stop his mind from wandering, to think about college, to his parents, to Camille, to his friends, to therapy, to the girl who jumped off the roof of the Palm Woods, and back around to school and college again. An endless loop of things he wishes he could change or do better or _be _better, and the more he thinks about them… the more he thinks about them.

He's beginning to wonder if he'll ever sleep again when he absentmindedly swallows two more pills.

And then two more.

And two more after that.

_Something's gotta be wrong… _

_This is not normal… _

_I just want to sleep._

And two more.

Later, when he looked back on it, Logan could never be sure if his foggy thoughts and the images drifting in and out of his head ever really blended into actual dreams, but he would suppose that at some point they must have, because the only other clear thing he would remember is being violently shaken awake by his mother the next morning.

"Logan? Logan! Answer me!"

He can vaguely hear someone or something nearby, but it's as if he's underwater, fluid filling his ears and blocking out most everything. His eyes refuse to open.

"Phillip! Call 911!"

_But I'm fine… Just wanted to sleep._

"The pills, Phillip! The pills! _Do something!" _

Logan's brain continues to refuse to clue the rest of his body in to the fact that something isn't right. He can hear his mother screeching in the background, feel her hands on his face and shoulders, shaking him at first and then slapping him in desperation and despair, thinking maybe this time, she got there too late.

Finally, finally, something clicks together and Logan is able to open his eyes. His mother isn't looking at him, perhaps unable to do so, because she seems to be sobbing into his father's shirt. Logan wants to say something, to get her attention, but he's unable. Everything is groggy and blurry and he's seeing without really seeing, unable to form coherent thoughts. He blinks once and lets his eyes fall closed again… he's so tired…

He must have twitched, or else Mrs. Mitchell happened to glance down at the exact right moment, because her hands fly to his face again, smoothing hair back from his forehead and caressing his cheek.

"Logan? Logan, can you hear me? You're going to be fine, sweetie, okay? I need you to hold on for me."

He doesn't respond—he can't—but he blinks again, and Mrs. Mitchell takes this to mean that he understands, which is probably more out of need to be understood than the actual reality of the situation, which is that Logan still really has no idea what's happening, other than that he thinks he's half awake. Or is it half asleep? Are they actually the same thing?

In the time it takes for the ambulance to arrive, some semblance of alertness begins to return him and he becomes aware of his chest rising and falling, of his mother gripping his hand tightly in both of hers, of the extreme heaviness of his eyes, of the dryness in his mouth. The paramedics hover over him, shining a light in his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, taking his blood pressure, as he doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger now that they're sure he really is alive.

"Do you have any idea why he would do this?" He hears someone ask.

His mother shakes her head tearfully and looks down at him on the stretcher. "Logan, why?" She doesn't really expect an answer; he hasn't yet spoken, but the need to ask is too strong.

Logan closes his eyes again and he feels his lips move.

"I just wanted to sleep..."


	14. Pieces

"_At the end of the day, you can either focus on what's tearing you apart or what's holding you together."_

* * *

><p>Chapter 14: Pieces<p>

_They say bad things happen for a reason, but no wise word's gonna stop the bleeding._

* * *

><p>Lucy opens her eyes and blinks a few times, inhaling deeply as she looks at her surroundings. Posters and drawings cover most of the wall space in the room, and the floor is littered with crumpled paper from sketchpads, charcoal pencils, erasers, and other fancy art tools that she doesn't even recognize.<p>

In the early morning silence, she can hear heavy footsteps downstairs as Mr. Garcia gets ready for work. Her heart jumps slightly, but she isn't too worried since Carlos was recently granted a reprieve and given back his door, which is now closed and locked. No one knows she's there. And no one has to. She doesn't want to think about what will happen to her when gets home if Jack realizes she was out all night, but for now she pushes that from her mind. They still have the school day to get through.

She sits up carefully, brushing her fingers through her hair and adjusting the blue t-shirt Carlos had given her to sleep in. The sleeping boy beside her rests on his stomach, breathing deeply and evenly, the sheet bunched around his waist so that she can see the tanned, smooth skin of his back. Resisting the urge to smooth some hair off his forehead, Lucy glances around the room again.

A new-looking sketchpad lies closed on the floor a few feet from the bed, pencils and smudgers scattered around it. Lucy tiptoes toward it, hesitating only because she's unsure if Carlos would appreciate her looking through his things. She picks up the book and hugs it to her chest before returning to the bed, where she sits cross-legged and sets the book down in front of her. She watched as Carlos shifts in his sleep. He doesn't wake, and this time she does push the hair out of his face before giving him a feather soft kiss on his forehead that he neither feels nor reacts to.

The first few pages of the book contain generic drawings of things in his room—still-lifes of his book shelf, his action figures, his hockey gear. But after that, it changes. There's a drawing of his brother sitting at the kitchen table, of his mother and father pulling weeds in their backyard garden, and of the three of them together, laughing about something.

Lucy turns the page and blinks in surprise. It's a picture of her staring off to the side, a cigarette burning in her hand. He's colored this one in a little, so there are light streaks of red in her hair, just like in real life, and her jeans are shaded lightly blue. As she stares down at it and runs her finger over the page, she knows the girl on the page is her, yet she can't help but feel that he's somehow drawn her more beautiful than she is in real life. It takes her a moment to pinpoint how, but when she notices it, tears prick her eyes and she swallows thickly to make them go away. Her eyes don't have that empty look she knows is constantly there; no, he's drawn her with a serene expression. Content. Happy, even. And her arms. There are no scars, no marks, no blemishes running down her arm on the page.

She decides to turn the page before she gets too emotional over this—_it's just a fucking picture_, she reminds herself—but the next few pages aren't any better. There's another drawing of her, one of her and the other two girls, one of Logan and Kendall, one of James, and one of all four boys in hockey gear that doesn't look like it's totally finished yet. She sees that he's done the same thing in all these drawings too. They look better on the page than they do in real life.

Lucy wonders if it's naïve of Carlos to do this. Instead of drawing everyone as they really are, hasn't he only drawn what he wants to see?

The boy in question shifts again and this time he opens his eyes sleepily, catching her red-handed with the sketchbook in her lap.

"Morning," he says, his voice raspy in the early morning. "What are you doing?"

"Couldn't resist," she murmurs, holding the book for him to see. "You don't mind, right?"

Carlos shakes his head and pushes himself into a sitting position, stretching his arms and yawning widely. "Do you like them?"

"They're amazing. But I have a question." She points down at one of the group pictures. "Why do we look like that?"

"Like what?" Carlos frowns, trying to spot a flaw.

"Everyone's so… happy. Relaxed."

Carlos cocks his head to the side and smiles sadly at her, as if she's missed an obvious point.

"That's usually how everyone looks when we're all together."

* * *

><p>He'd been in the hospital for a day, having his vitals tested, being hooked up to fluids, getting blood tests, and even checked for any evidence of self-harm. Everyone was finally satisfied that his health was fine, but he still hadn't been released.<p>

Apparently overdosing on sleeping pills qualified you for a trip to psych-ward suicide watch.

A nurse had been coming to check on him every hour on the hour, entering quietly, waiting for Logan to make eye contact with her before smiling briefly and leaving him to decide how to spend the next fifty-nine minutes.

"Why don't you tell me exactly what happened this week?"

Logan sighs, recounting to the doctor the fight with his parents, his mind not really on the conversation.

His parents had been in and out a couple of times throughout the day, to bring him food and see for themselves that he really was fine, but they hadn't stayed long. Logan wondered if it was because they couldn't bear to look at him since they obviously thought this was another attempt at ending his life. It also might just have been that they didn't have much to say; then again, he wouldn't have had anything to say to them either.

"And did you think it was a good idea, to discard your medication?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't really thinking at all…"

He's starting to fret about missing the school day, not because he's worried about his classes, but because no one will have told any of his friends where he is or why he's missing. Camille or Kendall—both, probably—are likely to call and ask about him. What will they think when no one answers at home? Would they go so far as to stop by his house? How is he even going to explain this predicament he's landed himself in?

Hardest question of all: will they believe him when he says it was an accident?

_Yes, _he answers himself instantly. _We don't lie to each other. _

Ah, but you don't always tell the whole truth either.

Logan shakes his head to stop himself from continuing the argument. Isn't having conversations with yourself the first sign you're really going crazy?

"What made you decide to take the pills?"

"I wanted to sleep," Logan replies without emotion. It doesn't matter how many times he says it, how insistent he is, or how frustrated he gets; his answer doesn't seem to be good enough for anyone. They continue to ask him, continue to prod him, phrasing the same questions different ways, trying to make him say something he hasn't already said.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I just couldn't stop thinking," he says honestly. "I didn't mean to take that many. I intended to take one dose and get a full night's sleep. I don't know why they didn't work. It was an accident."

"I understand what you're saying, Logan, but you have to understand something, too. Even accidents can be cries for help."

Logan restrains himself from cringing at the phrase. Cry for help. Need for attention. Acting out. All the stereotypical phrases used on suicidal kids when doctors try to find motives for their actions.

"Depression can cause serious disruptions in sleeping patterns," the doctor tells him gently. "Your prescription not only combated your depression, it also helped your body find a stable pattern. In cases like yours, when depression is likely to be abated after the teen years, you would normally be weaned off the medication gradually. You've been having trouble sleeping because your brain received something of a shock when it stopped getting the medication."

"Where are my parents?" Logan changes the subject. "My mother hasn't been in to cry at me for a while."

The doctor affords him a small smile. "They're right outside, waiting for us to finish our conversation, along with another visitor or two, from what I understand."

"What? Who?"

"They'll be in shortly. I just have a few more things to say. I believe that you weren't intentionally trying to harm yourself."

"You do?"

"I do. But I also believe that the consequences of unintended actions can be just as eye-opening, if not more so, than those of intended ones. That's all. I'll let your friends in now."

Logan is still letting the words sink in when Kendall, James, and Carlos enter the room.

* * *

><p><em>Meet you at your place in a half hour? Leaving hospital with the boys in a few.<em>

_-Sure thing. See you soon, _Jo types back.

_:)_

She smiles to herself, slipping her phone back into her pocket after reading her last text from Kendall. The grabs the last couple of items she needs from the drugstore and goes to the front to pay, not noticing the boy browsing the cheap sunglasses at the end of the row.

"Hey, Taylor!"

Jo looks up, the too-familiar voice sending an unwanted wave of fear through her chest. She turns her head to watch him approach her, clenching her hands into fists as he gets nearer.

"Don't," she says when he opens his mouth to speak. "Just don't."

"Look, I'm not stalking you or anything, okay? Can we just talk for a minute?"

Jo says nothing but turns her head back to face front. The sales clerk beckons her forward and starts scanning her things. She pays, grabs her bag, and walks out of the store, hoping against hope that he won't follow.

He does, of course.

"C'mon, Taylor. Court? Really?"

If she didn't hate him so much, she would almost think he was genuine; that he just wanted a friendly a chat. She knows better than that, obviously.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she finally says, not slowing down her pace at all. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say at the hearing tomorrow."

"Just hear me out," Jett pleads. "It's gonna be really horrible going through it all, don't you think? Everyone hearing the details. Parents. Your boyfriend. My girlfriend."

Jo hesitates for a fraction of a second, looking at him for the first time, but continues walking and remains silent.

"It was a long time ago," he continues determinedly. "I'm sorry, okay? I should have listened to you. It was a huge mistake. If I could go back—"

"Do you have a point here?" She interrupts him, not wanting to let him get into whatever speech he had planned.

"Why go through all this?" Jett asks. "I can see it on your face that you don't really want to go through with it. We both just want to forget it ever happened, right? You could tell them you don't want to testify. It'd be that easy. They'd drop the case, and this can all just go away. We're graduating soon, you know? We never have to see each other again."

Jo stops walking for the first time since leaving the drugstore, considering everything Jett's just told her.

"Leave me alone," she says, moving past him again.

"Look, I really am sorry, okay? Just think about it," he calls after her, letting her round the corner alone.

Her mind races as she leaves him in the distance. Isn't that what she really wanted all along? Not necessarily to punish him. Not to ruin his life. Just to make him understand that what he did wasn't okay. To make him know that he _hurt _her. She's tired of feeling like a _victim… _maybe he's right. Maybe all she needed was for him to acknowledge that he was wrong.

She's still deep in thought about the whole thing when Kendall arrives, and she doesn't even hear him come inside. He startles her by saying hello, and she drops her cup of tea, shattering it across the smooth tile of the kitchen floor.

"Sorry," Kendall apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you." He brushes a soft kiss onto her forehead and goes to retrieve the broom and dustpan from the pantry.

"It's not your fault," Jo exhales loudly. "I'm just distracted."

"Thinking about the hearing tomorrow? You're gonna be fine. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Yeah… I don't know…" She trails off, avoiding his eyes.

"It is," Kendall insists, sweeping the pieces of broken china into the dustpan and dumping it in the trash.

"Kendall… I think this whole thing has just gotten way out of hand."

"What does that mean?" He looks up, trying to catch her eye, but she is steadfastly looking at a spot on the wall about six inches to the right instead of at him.

Jo takes a deep breath. "I'm not going to the hearing tomorrow. Everything… This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't want it in the first place. I just don't really see the point."

"I do," he says, somewhat angrily. "You know how important this is."

Jo stiffens. "Okay, then you can go," she snaps. "Let me know how it turns out." She moves quickly past him and into the living room.

Kendall follows with the broom still in his hand. "You—you're really not going?" he asks in disbelief.

"Nope."

The blond boy shakes his head, biting his tongue because he doesn't want to start a huge fight, but he drops the broom and walks toward the front door before he says anything he'll regret.

"Kendall," Jo says, surprised by his strong reaction to her decision. She had known he wouldn't like it… But he'd get over it, right?

Kendall pauses. "Don't act like I'm the bad guy here, Jo. _You_ decided to press charges. _You_ needed to do this for closure. What changed?"

"I just… I don't need the trial. It's been a long time, okay? I'm moving on. The whole thing was supposed to be so I could get a grip on my life and get back to normal. I finally feel like I'm getting my old self back. There's nothing that going to court now can do for me."

Kendall looks at her for a minute before. "I don't believe that. And I don't think you do, either." He walks out without another word.

* * *

><p>Lucy has to walk by the park on her way home from Carlos' house. In the distance she can make out a lone figure sitting atop the jungle gym, right on the edge of the slide. As she approaches, she realizes who it is, and she wonders if this is coincidence or if he was waiting, hoping she'd walk by.<p>

"Hey," she calls up to him.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," James shrugs. He swings his legs out and eases himself down the slide, coming to a rest at the bottom and staying seated there. "You?"

"On my way home." She pulls out her cigarettes and lights one with trembling fingers, closing her eyes and she takes the first drag. The look on his face says it all, she thinks. The one thing she was trying to prevent happened anyway. He's broken, and she did it to him. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, though he hasn't said anything else.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to fuck everything up for you." Lucy sucks on her cigarette again before continuing. "Everything—the whole thing with Lauren Murray, and things aren't good at home right now, and I think my grandmother's getting sicker—everything's just so fucked, and then I went and made it worse by being with you and going back to him and… I'm just sorry."

"When we were together—that night—"

"It was a mistake," Lucy interrupts him. "I shouldn't have dragged you into my problems. You don't deserve this."

"Lucy—"

"You deserve better."

* * *

><p>The hostile glares she can handle. People looking at her everywhere she goes, their whispers behind her back… she can take it.<p>

What she can't handle is Kendall.

Kendall Knight, who lives up to his last name spectacularly by walking with her between every class, even if it means being late to his own, by staring people down in the hallway if they look at her the wrong way, by squeezing her hand to let her he's there for her, whatever she needs.

Kendall Knight, her knight in shining armor, who she knows only wants what's best for her, who stands silently by while she manages to convince herself that she doesn't need this court hearing, even though he thinks she's making the wrong choice.

Is it guilt that's putting her so on edge today? Guilt because she's putting Kendall through this, making him support her even though he disagrees with her?

At her locker after the final bell, Jett walks by, giving her an impassive look, raising his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth ever so slightly, as if he's reading her mind. As if he already knows that she's decided not to speak.

As if he already knows he's won.

Kendall meets her at the locker, not having witnessed the silent exchange between his girlfriend and the object of her hatred, and slides his hand across the small of her back in an effort to be affectionate. Instead she jolts away from, that look of fear flashing across her face as she hugs her body and closes her eyes, trying to block something from her vision that she won't succeed at, because the vision is inside her head, burned into her memories forever, and when Kendall puts a hand on her shoulder, she pulls away again.

"Jo?"

"I have to go," she says, her voice shaking.

"Okay," he replies soothingly. "I'll walk you—"

"No," Jo shakes her head. "I have to go to the hearing."

The look of relief that graces Kendall's face at this news is immediate. "Yeah?"

"I have to go," she repeats.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for being here, Dad," Jo murmurs quietly.<p>

"Where else would I be, sweetie?" Mr. Taylor pulls her close to him and gives her a hug that she wholeheartedly returns.

"I just want this all to end."

"And it will," he reassures her.

"Yeah, when he goes to jail," she mutters bitterly.

"Just remember what we talked about with your counselors, alright? About why you decided to do this: to get some closure, and to feel heard."

"I know."

Another voice breaks into their conversation from a few yards away. "Jo!"

She looks around to find Kendall walking towards them quickly as they stand outside the court building.

"Hey, Jo. Hi, Mr. Taylor," Kendall shakes her father's hand quickly, before the older man is pulled away to go over something with one of the lawyers.

An expensive-looking red car pulls into the parking lot, and the two teenagers watch as Jett emerges with his parents.

"I hate him so much," Kendall says softly.

Jo's knees have suddenly gone shaky. "You should go home, Kendall. I don't want you hearing all this."

Kendall rolls his eyes at her. "Not a chance. I know what happened."

"Not the details," she says, her voice rising an octave. "You don't need to hear how everything went down, or picture it all. Because once you do, you'll never be able to unsee it, okay? You'll always look at me differently, until you can't take it anymore and dump me, and then I'll grow old and die alone with no one but my eight cats."

"I am not gonna dump you," he tells her, smiling a little at her unfounded hysteria. "I could never dump a girl as great as you, and you being here, doing this, makes you about the greatest girl there is."

He takes her hand in both of his and kisses it lightly, earning a small smile from her. "Let's just get this over with."

Jo sits behind a table with her lawyers and her father, while Kendall stays back, sitting behind the barrier that separates the audience from the court proceedings. She's barely listening as the lawyers give their opening statements, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest.

She gets on the stand and takes the oath, swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her God. She forces herself not to look towards Jett, or towards Kendall, or anything that might distract her.

"Miss Taylor," Jett's lawyer begins. "The night of the alleged incident, did you go upstairs willingly with my client? Did you not, in fact, suggest it?"

"Y-yes," Jo stammers. "I—I did."

"Why did you do that?"

"I just—I thought we'd…"

"Yes?"

Jo struggles to find an answer, swallowing thickly, her mouth dry and her brain seeming to freeze up.

"Let me rephrase," the stern-looking woman says. "What were your intentions, Miss Taylor, in going up to that room that night?"

"I just thought we'd be alone together," Jo says.

"And you found my client attractive? You were excited about the prospect of, as you say, being alone together with him?"

This time she can't stop herself from glancing at Kendall, wishing he didn't have to hear this, especially from her.

"I did, yes. Before. I wanted to be there." She can't read his expression, doesn't have time to process it before being prodded with the next question.

"When Mr. Stetson began to make physical advances toward you, did you immediately reject him, or give him any indication that you wanted him to stop?"

"No," she says in a small voice.

"This is all very difficult for you, I'm sure," the woman says in an almost comforting way. "Not to be graphic, but when my client began to touch you, how did you react? Did you enjoy it?"

"No," Jo responds immediately, looking at Kendall again. He's not looking at her, though. His tense gaze is on the floor.

"No? Remember, you're under oath, Miss Taylor."

Even her father can't look at her when she answers. "At first, I did." She can feel her face heating up as she is forced to give these private details to a roomful of people that includes her boyfriend and her father and Jett's parents, and some random security guards and who knows who else.

"Ah ha. Miss Taylor, did Mr. Stetson ever threaten you with bodily harm, or use any weapons or other objects to force you to stay there?"

"No."

"Did Mr. Stetson use a condom?"

"Yes," Jo answers, anger threatening to boil into her response. "But that doesn't—"

"So you're saying my client managed to locate and open the condom, and undress himself and you without ever offering you a chance to get away, if that is, in fact, what you wanted?"

"I said 'No,'" Jo says, louder than before. "I wanted to stop him, but he's bigger than me, and stronger! I was afraid. I didn't—I wasn't sure…"

"Miss Taylor, how many men have you had sexual encounters with?"

The question throws her off, but before she can even open her mouth, her lawyer is on his feet.

"Objection. That is an irrelevant question."

"I'll answer it," Jo hears herself say, unsure of what's come over her. She looks directly at the woman standing in front of her. "That was, and remains, my only experience." She looks toward Jett, whose smug expression is nowhere to be found as she continues heatedly. "And I would not have chosen to lose my virginity upstairs at a house party with someone I'd barely even met."

"No further questions."

* * *

><p>"You know, you really scared the hell out of all of us," Camille says with a sad smile.<p>

"I know," Logan replies earnestly. "Believe me, I know. Kendall really let me have it yesterday."

"Good. Now I don't have to."

"What is this, a good cop/bad cop routine?"

"Oh, definitely," the thin girl smirks before cupping his face and leaning in. She kisses him right on the mouth without hesitation or any trace of embarrassment this time, pulling away only after gripping a handful of his shirt near his shoulder. "And I think you'll find that I play the part of 'good cop' _very_ well."

"Uh… yeah. You really do," Logan says with a raspy voice, surprise written all over his face. "What was that for?"

"Partially because I'm just really glad that you're okay, and partially because we never really got to finish what we started in your room at the Palm Woods last weekend. You know, before I lost my mind and had a spectacular panic attack."

"You didn't lose your mind," he tells her. "Just a slight setback."

"And you?" She asks. "Is this a slight setback?"

"I don't really know," Logan answers truthfully. "Before… I thought I was fine. I _wanted _to be fine, you know? I was perfectly happy trying to fix everyone else because I didn't have to sit down and look at myself and really think about whether things were really getting better or if I was just trying to _make _them better."

"And what have you decided?"

"Something my doctor told me yesterday… even accidents can be cries for help. I used to hate that phrase. Cry for help. It makes me sound like a stereotype. Like a statistic. But I think he was right. He told me that everything has a consequence, even things you don't intend, and you have to learn to deal with that and figure out what they all mean."

Camille waits quietly while he decides what to say next.

"I think," he says slowly, "that maybe my parents were right in not letting me go to California for college. Academically, I could handle it, no problem. I don't mean to brag, but that's just not something I'm worried about. But I got angry and threw away all my meds because we had a fight, because they were telling me things I didn't want to hear, so obviously there are still things that I need to work through if I want to really _get _better instead of just acting like I'm better."

"So that means…?"

"I'm staying here next year."

"I… wow." Camille exhales slowly. "You're really okay with that?"

"Yeah," Logan says confidently. "I'm staying here, I'm staying in therapy, and I'm gonna work on dealing with myself and my parents and how I handle things and try to get a grip on the fact that I might be a genius, but I don't know everything."

* * *

><p>"That was really fast," Jo mutters as the judge returns from her deliberation. "Is that a good thing?"<p>

"It can be," her lawyer replies calmly, his face expressionless.

The judge prepares to speak as everyone retakes their seats.

"Miss Taylor's testimony was extremely compelling, and I would like to applaud her for having the courage and strength to do what she did here today." The judge removes her glasses and rubs her eyes briefly. "It's the kind of case I don't like hear because I fear it discourages other young women from doing the same thing out of fear or hopelessness. However, due to the lack of eyewitnesses and physical evidence presented in the case, I have no choice but to find the defendant not guilty. Mr. Stetson, you are free to go."

Sighs of relief are heard from Jett's parents, the smug look having returned to his face as he leaves the courtroom.

* * *

><p>Jo ignores the knock on her door that comes about an hour later. She continues digging through her closet, pulling out clothes at random and leaving them in a big pile in the middle of her bedroom. When the knock comes again, she snaps.<p>

"I don't want to see anyone, Dad! Tell Kendall to go home!"

The door opens. "Was I supposed to hear that?" James walks in, a kind of guiltily embarrassed look on his face.

"Sorry," Jo sighs.

"Spring cleaning?" James asks, pointing to the pile of clothes.

"It's time for a change. I hate everything I own."

"So forget about it. Come out with us. You need to get out of the house. Camille's friend Stephanie invited her to some party and told her to bring anyone. They're celebrating the girls' soccer team making the playoffs."

"Yeah, sure," Jo replies with sarcasm. "I'm sure everyone wants to party with a pathetic, badly-dressed, rape victim loser."

"You're not a loser, Jo. No one's thinking that."

"Well _I _am. Along with a couple of other things like, 'what's the point?' and 'why did I bother?'" She slumps down on her bed and rests her head in her hands.

"Look, I know how you feel," James begins gently.

"Oh, do you? Really?" Jo laughs maliciously.

"Okay, maybe not _exactly _how you feel," he amends. "But look. After I got suspended after that big fight, I didn't ever want to show my face around school again, you know? I wanted to just… change my skin. Just stop existing. Not be me anymore. I hated it. But there was nothing I could do. I am who I am. And you are who you are. And you can't just hide out here. Because if you do, you're just gonna give him and all his douchebag friends the satisfaction of knowing they got to you."

"You used to be one of those douchebag friends." She cracks a small smile for the first time.

"Well not anymore. So what do you say? Come out?"

"Yeah, fine. Just give me a few minutes."

"Cool."

* * *

><p>James drops off Jo and Kendall in front of the house and drives off down the street to find somewhere to park, leaving them alone for the first time since the verdict had been given.<p>

"Jo, about what happened—"

"Don't," she stops him.

"Look, I'm sorry—"

"We're not talking about this now," she tells him fiercely.

"Okay, okay," Kendall raises his hands in surrender. "Just… if you don't feel up to this, just let me know, alright? You don't have to do this."

"I'm fine, Kendall," Jo says irritably, walking past him and not allowing him to grab her hand like he wanted to.

About fifteen minutes in, Jo regrets coming here. She's not having a good time, and she can tell Kendall isn't either because he's wringing his hands nervously, focusing too intently on his conversations, glancing around the room too often, as if he's afraid he might get caught doing something he's not supposed to. But she ignores the voice in her head that tells her to ask Kendall to take her home, instead marching through the crowd of people toward the kitchen for the cliché red cups full of dubious liquid.

She downs a cup of punch quickly and pours herself another which she sips on more slowly as she looks around. No one's really paying much attention to her, but she can't shake the feeling that everyone somehow _knows_ what happened. The paranoia gets to her and she drains her second cup in a few big gulps and immediately goes back for more.

Kendall, meanwhile, stands distractedly with James, trying to keep his eye on Jo and growing more and more anxious when he loses track of her. They're soon joined by Logan and Camille and Stephanie, who tries not to look too awkward being around all of Camille's friends that she's never met. She offers to go and get some drinks, turning to ask Kendall what he wants.

"Nothing for me," he replies, clenching his hands at his side.

"You sure? It's no big—"

"I'm sure," he says, a little too firmly, because she there's an awkward pause before she says 'okay' and turns to go find cups. "I'm gonna go find Jo," he tells James, raising his voice to be heard over the music and chatter of the crowd.

He finds her sitting on the staircase, and she's not alone. Two guys are talking with her, one of them with his hand on her shoulder, and she's doing nothing to push him away. If anything she looks more at ease than she has all day, speaking animatedly smiling widely. When the guy slips his arm around her waist and leans in close to say something in her ear, Kendall marches over and yanks her away, throwing the guy an ugly look.

Kendall searches for an empty room that they can talk in, opening the first door in the hallway, which must be a guest bedroom because it is immaculately clean, as if no one has been in it in a while.

"Did I make you jealous?" Jo slurs a little bit, grinning at him through heavily lidded eyes. She moves toward him to wrap her arms around his upper body, standing on her tiptoes to give him a sloppy kiss. After a moment he sidesteps her and pushes her away gently.

"What the hell is up with you?" Kendall asks, continuing to try to block her as she slips her hands underneath his shirt, attempting to lift it up and get it off. "What are you doing?"

"What's the big deal?" She steps back and unzips her jacket, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor, revealing a tank top that shows a sliver of her stomach. "I'm easy, right? Everyone knows it now. The lawyers, the judge, my father. You've got me alone, Kendall, just do what you want."

Kendall runs his hand through his hair and turns away hopelessly, as if searching for an answer to the current dilemma.

"What? Don't you want me?" Jo asks.

"Not right now, no," Kendall says without hesitation. He means it, too. "Not like this."

"Why not? Because Jett got there first?"

"God, Jo, no! That's not even—you have to stop—"

"Stop what? Stop thinking about it? Just let it go, like someone was rude to me, or bumped into me in the hallway?"

"That's not what I meant!" Kendall raises his voice slightly to make her listen. "You're scaring me, Jo! I just want the old you back!"

"You don't even know the old me!" Jo yells. "The old me went upstairs with a guy that night, alright? And she never came back."

"Jo—"

"Just get out of here, Kendall," she cuts him off.

"I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Get OUT!" She shouts. "GO!" She shoves him in the chest and he retreats a few steps, but he isn't ready to give up yet.

"Jo, stop it! Just stop, alright? I know what you're trying to do, and it's not gonna work! You're not gonna scare me away! I'm not going anywhere."

The girl's eyes fill with tears and she covers her face with her hands, flinching only slightly when Kendall approaches her and envelops her in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," she cries into his chest. "I'm sorry…"

"Shh," he hushes her. "Don't. You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Kendall wipes away her tears with his thumb, waiting for her breathing to even out before suggesting they go home.

"Come on, I'll walk you. I'll text James on the way."

* * *

><p>It shouldn't surprise her that Carlos is nowhere to be found. But after all, he never can resist a good party.<p>

Lucy searches in the depths of her pocket for the small pill she brought for the occasion, popping into her mouth and washing it down with the punch that everyone seems to be drinking. She looks up and finds that Camille has witnessed her action, and shrugs her shoulders in her direction. Annoyed that Carlos hasn't sought her out, Lucy uncrosses her legs and stands, somewhat unsteadily, deciding to wander around and see if she can find him.

When she does, she doesn't like what she finds.

In the back corner of the dark room, Lucy sees Carlos swaying to heavy beat of the music with Stephanie, who's grinding against him as he grips her waist. Suddenly, Stephanie turns and reaches for Carlos, kissing him hard while they dance.

_Any second now, _Lucy thinks, expecting Carlos to break the kiss, take a step back, push her away. Anything. She stands rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak, just watching as Stephanie practically gropes at Carlos and he does nothing to dissuade her.

Finally she turns swiftly and tries to stalk away, bumping into a concerned-looking Camille, and then jostling James as she makes her way out of the party and through the front door to go home. Camille follows her, grabbing her arm to get her to stop fleeing.

"Lucy! What happened?"

"Don't act like you didn't see," Lucy spits. "Your slut friend in there was all over him! And he didn't do anything to stop her."

"Don't call her that," Camille defends her friend. "And what did you really expect? It's Carlos."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means," she says softly. "You might be… together… but he's still… him. Nothing's gonna change that. You might calm him down a little, but he's always gonna be _Carlos._"

"I don't _want _to change him! I just thought—after the whole thing with Wayne, and then James—I thought I made it clear that I chose _him._ I don't think it's asking too much for him to choose me, too. Guess I shouldn't be surprised, though. You're right. He is who he is."

"You shouldn't be surprised," Camille says. "But that doesn't mean you can't be hurt. The thing is, though… he's not really yours, you know? He'll never _belong_ to anyone, Lucy. That's why you picked him, isn't it? Because you know you'll never have to give yourself completely to him. But I think deep down you know that he's not the one you really want."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Lucy retorts automatically. "You don't know what I want."

"Maybe not. But are you sure _you _do?"

* * *

><p>When they get home, Kendall turns the key and opens the front door for Jo, holding her hand the whole way to her room. He opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts for her to change into. Her head is still foggy from drinking, and she begins stripping off without telling Kendall to turn around or close his eyes. He turns his back politely, scratching the back of his neck, waiting for her to finish so he can get her to bed.<p>

Jo wraps her arms around him from behind, startling him slightly.

"Can you stay?"

"I, um… I don't know if that's a good idea," Kendall murmurs. "What about your dad?"

"Please? Just to sleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Okay," he relents. "Yeah. Of course."

"Thank you," Jo whispers.

Kendall shoots a text to his mom explaining where he is and kicks off his shoes, sliding fully-clothed into bed beside Jo, who curls into his side immediately and closes her eyes. He kisses the top of her head softly and listens to her breathe, his chest rising and falling to match hers. He's barely starting to nod off when he hears it.

"I love you, Kendall Knight," Jo says quietly but clearly.

"Love you, too, Jo Taylor."

* * *

><p><strong>Annnnnd, boom. Another chapter. I'm pretty proud of how quickly this went up. THANK YOU so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, I know I ended that one on a bit of a cliffhanger. Hope you enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you thought!<strong>


	15. Break Even

"_There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don't know and even the people you don't want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face." — Lemony Snicket, The End_

* * *

><p>Chapter 15: Break Even<p>

_I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing  
>Just praying to a God that I don't believe in.<em>

* * *

><p>"This can't be good," James moans quietly in the lobby of the Palm Woods.<p>

"What's wrong?" Camille asks, coming up behind him.

"That," he points to the front door where a pretty but intimidating-looking woman stands steadfastly ignoring the man next to her, though she throws him and the young woman beside him scathing looks every so often. "Please hide me." He tries to duck behind her but fails miserably, being nearly a foot taller and probably sixty pounds heavier.

"Your parents?"

"Both of them," James confirms. "And just to add to the fun, my dad brought Evelyn! Joy."

"What's the big deal?" Kendall asks, joining the conversation.

"They're here to take me home…"

"Why's that bad? You're done with therapy now."

"Sorry, I should be clearer," James rolls his eyes. "They're _both _here to take me home. The last time they were in the same room together… well let's just say it took my eardrums a while to recover. I'm surprised they're not shouting at each other already."

"Rough."

"Yeah. Can't wait to see how this goes."

"Good luck!" Kendall calls after him.

James reluctantly approaches the front desk, where the blond woman who works there is looking nervously back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Diamond, unsure of what to do.

"I just need some paperwork signed," she begins.

Mr. Diamond reaches for the clipboard in her outstretched hand, but James' mother snatches it from the woman before he can take it. She scribbles her signature over the pages as they wait for James' therapist to join them. When he finally does and beckons them to his office, Mrs. Diamond puts her hand on James' shoulder and guides him down the hallway, turning her back on Mr. Diamond and his wife.

"Well, James, you must be pretty excited that this day has finally come," Dr. Powers says.

"Uh… sure, I guess," James mutters, glancing nervously at his parents. He wonders how long it'll take before they start screaming at each other.

"I'll keep this short, since I'm sure you're anxious to get out of here and celebrate with your family, but I just wanted to congratulate you on successfully completing your in-patient program. Because of the strides you've made, we no longer feel it's necessary for you to spend your entire weekends here. We encourage you to try to get back to normal and put into practical use the things you've learned during your stay here."

"Right. Thanks. Yeah."

"Of course, we'll still want to you come in an hour a week just to check in, see how things are going for you, but I imagine it'll be much less intrusive on your social life," he smiles knowingly. "Do you or your parents have any questions?"

"No, I don't—"

"Is there anything else we need to be doing at home?" Brooke Diamond asks, speaking over James.

"Oh, no," Dr. Powers replies. "James has learned and started to master most of the anger management techniques we've given him. As long as he remembers to employ them in high-stress situations, he should be fine. We've found that he's become much less aggressive than he was at the beginning of his treatment, and much more open to discussing his thoughts in rational manners."

"Excellent," James' father says. "It's about time he got his act together."

James' mother scoffs. "Because he has such a wonderful role model when it comes to dealing with aggression."

"You're one to talk, Brooke," he retorts nastily.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Diamond questions, voice rising an octave.

"Oh, don't act so innocent. As if _your _aggression wasn't one of the reasons our marriage ended in the first place."

"Funny, I seem to remember it having something to do with a certain young secretary who worked in your office," Brooke says, throwing a glare at Evelyn, who looks stricken.

James is breathing. He's breathing and counting to ten and tuning out his parents' voices as they snipe at each other. He's calm. He's agitated, but he's in control. He won't snap. He won't snap. He won't snap.

"Give it a rest, will you?" He says out loud. His tone isn't angry or frustrated. Just tired. Because _he's _tired. Tired of his parents freaking out every time they have to be near each other, tired of feeling so irritated every time he has to spend time with them, tired of them airing their baggage to the whole world instead of making an effort to keep their issues private.

His parents both snap their mouths shut and turn toward him again. "James?"

"Can we just go now?"

"Of—of course."

Brooke stands and thanks Dr. Powers, as do Mr. Diamond and Evelyn, and James leads them back out of the room and towards the lobby, where Carlos is the only one still waiting for a parent to sign him out. James waves hopelessly at him, catching the sympathetic look from his roommate in return.

"Well," says Evelyn brightly as they step outside. "I think it would be nice if we all celebrated James completing his therapy!"

"You must be joking," James mumbles under his breath.

"It'll be so fun! A family dinner. Don't you think, David?"

"Well, if Brooke—"

"I'll pass," Mrs. Diamond says briskly.

"I'd actually like to pass on that too," James says. "I'm kind of tired. And I have some work to do before school tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay…" Evelyn's smile falters.

They've reached the parking lot and James stops short, looking back and forth between his mother and father. They seem to have realized the same thing as him.

"It's up to you, son," David tells him.

_Fuck, _James thinks to himself. They're really going to put him in the awkward situation of choosing which parent he goes home with? On the one hand, he gets pretty much left alone when at his dad's, which he enjoys. On the other hand, his mom's house doesn't have Evelyn.

Privacy wins, and James goes to hug his mother, telling her that he'll see her tomorrow before climbing into the backseat of his dad's SUV.

At home, Evelyn starts to say something but James cuts her off and heads up to his room, not seeing the hurt look on her face as he passes. After he puts away the bag containing his clothes from the weekend and a few pamphlets with reminders on how to deal with anger, he sneaks back down the stairs to steal some food from the kitchen so he can shut himself in his room for the rest of the night. He stops when he hears voices coming from the other room.

"—don't know what I'm doing wrong," Evelyn sighs. "He still hates me, even after all this time."

"He doesn't hate you," comes Mr. Diamond's voice. "He's just getting used to you. He'll come around."

"I don't know," she replies doubtfully. "Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a step-mother. Or a real mother. What if the baby hates me as much as James does?"

"Don't say that. James' behavior has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with mine and Brooke's divorce and the toll it took on him. Everything's going to be fine with the baby."

"Have you thought about when you're going to tell him?"

"Well, tonight would have been the ideal timing, but I don't know. I guess I just didn't want to drop it on him tonight."

"It has to be soon, you know," Evelyn says. "We're going to have to start getting things ready. A nursery and everything."

James ducks back out of the hallway and sprints up the stairs silently to his room, trying not to hyperventilate. _Evelyn's pregnant? _He wonders. _Evelyn's pregnant,_ he confirms. Oh, God. His dad's too old to have another kid! What are they thinking? Gross.

A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that maybe he should try to start being nicer to his step mother. _It won't kill you to have a conversation with her, _it says. But, still. He's not quite gotten over the fact that he blames her for splitting up his parents' marriage. Sure, they were having problems way before she was in the picture, but he refuses to let go of the idea that they could have worked things out if his dad hadn't met her.

_Doesn't change the fact that she's your stepmom now. And you're going to have a baby brother or sister now. Time to grow up, James. _

Time to grow up.

* * *

><p>"Lunch today?" Logan asks. "Er, just us, I mean."<p>

Camille stands on her tip-toes to give him a quick peck. "I want to," she says apologetically. "But I kind of need to talk to Stephanie."

"Okay. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, totally fine," she assures him. "It's about Carlos and Lucy."

"Gotcha. Okay, well I'll see you in English then." He leans down and kisses her again before heading off to his class.

When lunchtime rolls around, Camille scans the cafeteria for her friend, who's sitting at a table with some of her friends from the soccer team.

"We need to talk," she says in a low voice.

"Okay," Stephanie says, looking concerned. She grabs her lunch and follows Camille to an empty table. "What's up?"

"It's about Carlos," Camille starts. "About what happened at the party."

Stephanie grins but looks slightly embarrassed. "Oh my God. I don't know what I was thinking. I was drinking and I wanted to dance and things got a little bit out of hand...Did he say something about me? Did he ask you to talk to me?"

Camille bites her lip and looks away from the girl sitting across from her, not wanting to kill the sort of hopeful look on her face. She always did have a thing for bad boys. "Um, no, not exactly."

"Oh. Okay. Then… what?"

"It's, um… It's not… I don't think it's a good idea for you to get involved with Carlos."

"What? Why not?" Stephanie asks. "He's your friend, right?"

"Right. Look, I don't mean to be… It's just… I know him, okay? He's not… normal."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he's not like other guys. He'll never be the guy you can take home to your parents, or make plans with, or go on cute dates with. It's not who he is."

"Wow," Stephanie laughs humorlessly. "You guys must be _so _close for you to go talking shit about him like this. But then again, how close can you really be to your drug dealer? What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem! And I'm not talking shit. I'm trying to protect you, Steph. I don't want to see you get hurt, especially by him."

"Who said anything about getting hurt? We just hooked up once, it's not like we're getting engaged. It was just some party fun, Camille. Lighten up."

"You don't understand," Camille shakes her head. "It's not just about Carlos. There's this whole thing with Lucy, and kind of with James…"

"Oh my God, would you just spit out whatever it is you're trying to tell me?"

"Lucy's his girlfriend!" She snaps.

"His what?" Stephanie blinks, looking confused.

"Carlos has a girlfriend," Camille repeats.

"Oh… that's awkward."

"What?"

"It is," her friend shrugs.

"'That's awkward.' That's all you have to say?"

"Well… yeah. Pretty much. Look, I didn't know he was seeing someone, and he certainly didn't make it a point to tell me. I'm not gonna feel guilty about something that wasn't my fault."

"Stephanie."

"God, Camille. Look, I'm sorry I butted in to all your friends' lives by inviting them to a party. I didn't realize it was going to bring worlds crashing down."

"Steph, you have no idea what it's like for us. You don't know them and what they've been through. You don't know—" She cuts herself off before she can finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. Stephanie can read her mind as easily as ever.

"I don't know what? Go ahead and say it." Camille looks away. "You were going to say 'you don't know me,' weren't you?" When Camille remains silent, Stephanie lets out an exasperated huff. "Whose fault is it that I don't know you anymore? And whose fault is it that I don't know your friends? You're the one that pushed me out of your life when you went into therapy. _You're_ the one that replaced me with a bunch of strangers. And you're the one who makes damn sure to keep us as separate as possible, trying to preserve your little fantasy bubble and isolate yourselves from the real world."

"That's not—"

"Yes it is," Stephanie interrupts her. "It is what you do. Kendall doesn't talk to anyone on the hockey team anymore, and James isn't friends with anyone that he used to hang out with. Neither is Jo. You don't go to drama club anymore. And I bet if I ask you, you'll tell me that Logan doesn't hang out with any of his old genius honor-roll friends anymore. You guys all depend on each other—_cling_ to each other like no one else can be there for you. And I get that you guys bonded or whatever, but it's not fair for you all to act like everyone else is just clueless, and like no one will ever understand you. I'm sorry if me hooking up with Carlos put a tear in the fragile web that holds you guys all together but I think it's time you started entering the real world again."

"It's not that simple!" Camille tells her. "And I don't mean to exclude you from my friends, but you have to understand that some point, all of us hit a rock bottom. And _we_ were the only ones there for all of it. My only point here was to let you know that getting involved with Carlos might have bigger consequences than you think. It's not just a matter of him having some random girlfriend, okay? Lucy is my friend, but she needs some serious help. Help that I honestly don't think she's getting at the Palm Woods, but she's finding it somewhere with Carlos, and I would hate to see you get into something with him that is only going to cause a lot of people a lot of pain."

"Camille, just be honest with me," Stephanie says. "It's not my feelings you're concerned about. "It's Lucy. I don't know what her deal is, and frankly, I'm not sure I care to know, but be real. You're not worried about how it'll affect me if I get with him. You're worried about how it will affect _her_. And that's fine, I get that she has issues, but stop acting so concerned for me."

"I'm not acting, Steph! This is so much more complicated than you realize!"

"Would you just stop and listen to yourself? This isn't a soap opera! This is real life, Camille. Things are only complicated because we make them that way."

* * *

><p>"Come on," Carlos pouts, grazing his fingertips over Lucy's hipbone and pressing a kiss to her neck.<p>

Her first instinct is to lie still, to not protest, because that's what she's been trained to do: don't fight it, and it'll be over soon. But another voice enters her mind, one that sounds suspiciously like James telling her _nothing's wrong with saying no. _Her eyes fly open, though she hadn't realized they were clenched tightly shut, and she covers Carlos' hand with her own, putting a stop to his attempts to push her shirt up.

"I don't want to," she says clearly. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling, half afraid that he'll ignore her, or hit her the way Jack does on those rare occasions when she tries to resist his advances.

Carlos simply lets out a small noise of frustration but otherwise doesn't badger her anymore about it, instead rolling off of her and onto his side, where he props himself up on his elbow and looks down at her troubled face.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she lies, looking away from him. "I should probably get going. My stepdad will want me home soon and I want to visit my grandmother before I go home anyway."

"Alright, alright. Well do you want me to come with you? We could hang out at your house for a change."

"No!" Lucy says a little too loudly and a little too quickly. "You can't."

"Why not?" Carlos is puzzled.

"Just… you can't. Jack doesn't—he's tired after work and he doesn't like visitors," she invents. "I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow." She slides off his bed, smoothing out her shirt and her hair and starts moving towards the door.

"Alright… Are you sure there's nothing else wrong? You've been weird all weekend. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Lucy pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to look back at Carlos, who is now sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. "Did you sleep with Stephanie?"

"What?" Carlos frowns.

"From the party. I just want to know if you slept with her."

"Would it bother you if I did?" He asks.

"Yes," she replies honestly. "I know we haven't… talked about… _us; _I just think I deserve to know."

"Okay… Well, I didn't. Happy?"

"I guess," Lucy shrugs. "Well… no, not really. You still kissed her."

"Technically, she kissed me," Carlos grins, attempting to lighten the mood.

"You didn't do anything to stop her." Lucy is still deadly serious and Carlos' smile fades.

"It didn't mean anything, Luce. Is that why you've been distant all weekend? Because of her? Are you jealous?"

"No," she says automatically. When he raises his eyebrow at her, she rescinds. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Look, Luce, I'm sorry about that. But we never really… talked about what we are to each other. We've never been exclusive before."

The elephant in the room blares loudly at them and Lucy wonders how long they can really sustain this conversation without mentioning James. Because really, what this all comes down to, at least in her mind, is the triangle they've unintentionally created, which they all know exists but no one dares talk about for fear of disrupting the fragile peace they've all finally achieved. She's jealous of Stephanie, yes, but not exactly for the reasons Carlos thinks. No matter who Lucy chose, it would have been a sacrifice. It killed her to do that to James, just as it would have killed her to see the look on Carlos' face if she had gone home with his best friend that day at the hockey rink. And he didn't get that. He didn't understand that giving up James for him meant giving up a part of herself, and because he didn't get that, he went and hooked up with Stephanie at a party as if nothing was different. As if Lucy was still just his go-to fuck buddy that he called up when his other prospects fell through.

"Is that what you want?" Carlos questions when Lucy says nothing.

"I think it's only fair," she mutters. "I'm not hooking up with J—with anyone else anymore."

"With James, you mean… You slept with him, didn't you?"

"It was one night," Lucy admits. "Right after Lauren died. I was freaked out and I _knew _it was my fault, and my stepdad… James' mom was out of town, so we got fucked up. That was the only time."

Carlos rests his head in his hands, refusing to look at her anymore. "Sometimes even I can't believe how amazingly screwed up we all are. God. You really had sex with him? After you'd been sleeping with me? And my _other _best friend? Jesus."

"Oh, so you're allowed to go off and fuck anything that looks at you, but I'm not?"

"I didn't sleep with Stephanie!"

"I'm not talking about Stephanie! What about all those girls at your little parties in the woods? You think I don't know about them? You think they don't take it upon themselves to make sure I hear about it every single time you find a new girl to take behind the tree?"

"What are you talking about?" Carlos' angry tone has dissipated into genuine confusion. "Why would they tell you that?"

"Because they know it hurts me!" Lucy yells. "Because they don't like me for hooking up with guys they like, guys they know I don't care about. Because they know they one way to get to me is _you_! Just because we've never talked about being 'boyfriend and girlfriend' doesn't mean I don't care about you being with other girls! Just like I know you cared when I hooked up with Wayne. And you care about me being with James."

"I cared about you being with Wayne because he was my best friend. And yeah, I care about James because even though you're here with me, I know there's some part of you that wants to be with him."

"That's not true," she denies, though her heart skips a beat. "I'm with _you. _I chose _you." _

"Okay... Let's really do this, then. You and me. No one else. The whole nine yards. Dates, meeting the parents, everything."

"We both know that that's not you, Carlos. It's not us."

"But you'd do it with James."

"Leave James out of this."

"I can't! Don't you get it, Luce? There's no way to leave him out of this. No matter what we do, James is in this."

Lucy wants to argue with him, to tell him that he's wrong. To tell him that James has no effect on the relationship between the two of them. But she doesn't have it in her. She loves Carlos… but she and James have a connection, too. One that won't be shaken easily.

"I really like you, you know," Carlos says softly. "And I know you like me. But I also know you care about _him. _And you're with _me_ now… so I can be whatever you want—whatever you need me to be. If you want slacker Carlos with the drug dealing hobby, I can be that. It can be like it's always been with us—parked cars and parties and being wasted all the time. But you need to know that that's not all I am. It's not all _we _can be."

Something in his eyes gets her. She believes him. She thinks… maybe… the wall she's been working so hard to build and maintain… maybe she can let it down a little bit. Not completely—never completely—but she can give him some of what she'd given James, maybe start to let him in.

"I know it's not," she murmurs. "That's what scares me."

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Lucy."

A brief vision flashes through her head of Jack nearly seven years ago, saying those exact words. Those words that he repeated nearly every time he came to visit her, every time he touched her or led her to the bed. _Be a good girl. I'm not going to hurt you. _

"Those are just words," she says without thinking. "They don't mean anything."

"They mean something to me," he replies earnestly. "Just give me a chance to prove it."

She hesitates momentarily, unsure of what she's more scared of: that he'll hurt her, or that she'll hurt him. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Lucy nods.

Carlos cracks another grin, and she can see the relief on his face. "Should we like, shake on it or something?"

Lucy allows him a small smile and crosses the room quickly to cup his face in her hands and give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

"That works too."

* * *

><p>"She's resting now, but you can go in. The medication makes her drowsy, so she probably won't wake up."<p>

"Okay. Thank you."

Lucy tugs on her jacket sleeves, ensuring that her arms are completely covered before stepping quietly into her grandmother's room. The elderly woman lies sleeping on her hospital-style bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily as her chest rises and falls evenly. She wants badly to reach out and touch her hand, torn between letting her grandmother know she's there and letting her sleep undisturbed.

She's getting worse, Lucy thinks. She wishes they could bring her home to live with them, but Jack had already put his foot down. The nursing home can give her better care than we can, he said. Never mind the fact that Lucy's mother is a nurse. So Lucy's forced to visit her every so often, avoiding her penetrating gaze and laughing off the concerned questions. It's too much to burden the old lady with, to try to tell her about her emotional issues. And anyway, the root of it all, Lucy knows, is Jack. And that's a secret that she'll take her grave. She's sure of it.

"Please get better," Lucy begs. "I need you."

The frail woman doesn't stir, but continues sleeping, blissfully unaware of her granddaughter's turmoil.

"I'll stop doing it," she murmurs, pushing her sleeve up to reveal the pattern of scars, old and new, on her forearm. "I'll stop it completely. The drugs too. Anything. Just please, please, get better, okay?"

She's not sure who she's bargaining with. God, she guesses. But she hasn't really believed in God for a long time. She just couldn't reconcile the belief that God cared for his people with the fact that such terrible things happened in the world. So what is the point of making a deal with someone you're not even sure is there? In the end, she decides it doesn't matter if he exists or not. People are religious because they need to believe that life means something, that there's some ultimate purpose to our time here. It doesn't matter if he exists, Lucy thinks. It just matters that you have hope in something. _If you exist… please just help her. _

Lucy hastily swipes at the tears that have sprung to her eyes, not allowing them to fall. No. She'll be strong today. She grasps her grandmother's hand for a brief moment before standing up and letting herself out of the small room, taking several deep breaths as she makes her away through the lobby and back outside, praying for a miracle.

* * *

><p>James is driving out of the senior parking lot, heading for his dad's house, when he sees Lucy on the sidewalk going home alone, hood up to protect her from the light rain that's been falling all day. He pulls up slowly beside her and rolls the window down.<p>

"Hey. It's going to pour any second now. Do you want a ride?"

Lucy pauses and bites her lip. "I'll be fine. It's not that far."

"C'mon, Luce," James says exasperatedly. "It's not a big deal."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky and a loud clap of thunder directly follows it. Lucy jumps, an involuntary shiver of fear running down her spine and she climbs up into his SUV, setting her bag down on the floor and slamming the door quickly behind her. By the time they hit the stop sign at the end of the street, the sky has darkened considerably and the rain has started falling faster, large drops splashing on the windshield.

Lucy pushes her hood off of her head and runs her fingers through her long, tangled, and damp hair. "Thanks," she says quietly. She's not sure James heard, though, as another loud clap of thunder sounds above them.

They ride in silence towards Lucy's house, and she avoids looking at him, almost afraid of what a conversation between them might bring. Instead she clasps her hands firmly in her lap and looks out her window, watching the raindrops race each other across the glass. Traffic moves slowly and the light is out at one of the main intersections, and they also pass what looks like a fender-bender before they've even made it halfway.

The car beside them suddenly skids, hydroplaning over a large puddle in the road, and swerves into James' lane. Lucy lets out a loud gasp, one hand flying to her mouth to cover it as her eyes widen. James slams on his brakes and jerks his steering wheel to avoid being hit, causing a car behind him to blast their horn at the sudden motion. It's a few split seconds that feel like an eternity, but James quickly regains control of the vehicle, exhaling loudly as he glances at Lucy.

"Are you okay?"

Lucy nods, her heart caught in her throat, beating wildly from the moment of panic. "Yeah."

The downpour continues as James pulls up to Lucy's driveway, which is devoid of cars. Empty house.

"See you later," James says, preparing to reverse.

She stops with her hand on the door handle. "You should come inside." She can tell that the statement catches him off guard.

"No, it's—"

"You can't drive out there right now," Lucy insists. "It's dangerous."

"I don't know if that's a good idea. It's not that far…" James weakly protests again.

Lucy looks into his eyes for the first time since she got in the car. "Please." She can instantly see him relent.

"Yeah. Okay."

"Ready to make a run for it?"

"Let's do this," James smiles, turning off the ignition and unbuckling his seatbelt.

They both steel themselves for a brief second before jumping out of the car and sprinting up the path to the cover of the front porch. Despite their best efforts, they're pretty much completely drenched by the time Lucy manages to unlock the front door to let them inside, just as another flash of lightning explodes across the sky.

"And you were going to walk home," James scoffs, grinning down at Lucy as she tries to shrug off her wet jacket.

"Yeah, yeah," she rolls her eyes. "James to the rescue once again. My hero."

She crosses the room and flicks on the lights in time to see James pushing his wet hair off his forehead. She has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth it for him.

"How long do you think it'll be until the storm passes?" James wonders.

"Who knows?"

Lucy looks around for the remote so she can turn on the weather report. As soon as she locates it and picks it up, the overhead lights zap off, leaving them in darkness again.

"Nooo," Lucy moans quietly.

"You really don't like storms, huh?" James asks.

"Hate them," she mutters.

"Why? It's just rain."

"I just don't," she snaps a little too forcefully to be natural, causing an awkward silence between them. She turns away from him, closing her eyes, trying to ward off the mental images of Jack in her bedroom, whispering in her ear that 'it's just rain' and there's nothing to be afraid of as his hands creep under her clothes and he tries to assure her that he'll keep her safe.

Another shiver of fear runs down her back, and James, misinterpreting it, says, "You should go change."

"What?"

"You're soaked. You must be freezing. You should put on something dry."

"I—oh. Yeah. What about you?"

"I've got gym clothes in my bag," he shrugs. "That should be fine."

"Okay. There's a bathroom around the corner," Lucy points out. "I'll be right back."

"Cool."

She steps into her room once James is out of sight and takes a few deep breaths to steady her nerves. It's weird having him here, in her house. She can't remember the last time she had a friend over, let alone a boyfriend. Boy friend. She's half terrified that Jack will come home and find her there with James… what he'll do to her when they're alone again if he even _thinks _she might have told someone what he does to her. She belongs to Jack, and Jack alone. But the rain continues to pound steadily, wind howling and thunder crashing, so she feels fairly confident that Jack will stay wherever he is until the storm passes.

It takes her a few minutes to peel off all her wet clothes and locate some dry ones in the dark, so when she steps back out into the living room, she finds James sitting on the couch, trying to check the weather from his phone.

"It's supposed to blow over by around seven o'clock," he tells her as she sits down gingerly beside him, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between them.

"Is this weird?" He asks after a minute. "Me being here, I mean."

"Um…"

"It is." He smiles ruefully. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Lucy says, pulling up her feet to sit cross-legged so she can face him. "I've never really been able to bring friends home for a visit…"

"Bet you'd rather be stuck here with Carlos than me, though." He makes an attempt at a joke but it falls a bit short. The regret isn't quite kept out of his voice, his tone not entirely light enough to be laughed off.

"That's not true," she murmurs, looking up at him. "You're still my friend, James. Aren't you?"

"Am I?" He asks. "Is that even possible?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know if it is," James says honestly. "I want nothing to be different, Lucy… But I can't help but feel that everything is. You and Carlos. You and Me. Me and Carlos. None of it's how it was before… well before—"

"Before I slept with you," Lucy finishes for him, acknowledging what they did for the first time since it happened. "Do you wish we hadn't done it?"

"In some ways... yes," he answers, wanting to be truthful but not wanting to hurt her feelings. "I feel like everything would be so much less complicated. We'd just be friends and you and Carlos would just be… whatever you guys were. But—and I know we were drunk or whatever—I don't feel like being with you that night was a mistake. I'd been trying to ignore my feelings for you for awhile before that ever happened. It felt right. Even if things didn't between us… didn't… turn out the way I wanted."

"I'm sorry…" Lucy closes her eyes. "I shouldn't have… I keep dragging you into my problems, my messes. All I end up doing is making bigger ones."

"I _like _being dragged into your messes," he says seriously. "Speaking of which… I heard about what happened at that party. With Carlos and Stephanie."

"Of course you did."

"Well…?"

"Well what?"

"Is everything okay?"

"You mean why am I still with him? You're not very subtle, James. It's not one of your strong suits. I know what you really want to ask, so why don't you just say it?"

"Because I don't want things to be weirder between us than they already are! You made your choice, and I get that, Lucy. I know you're with him now, and I don't want you to feel you can't talk to me anymore… But how can you just ignore the fact that he made out with another girl right in front of you? Like, a nanosecond after you chose him."

"It's not—"

"—That easy?" James interrupts. "Of course not. Nothing is. I don't want it to sound like I'm asking why him and not me…"

"But that is what you're asking."

"We… we'd have been good together. Don't you think?" He exhales slowly, unsure whether a yes or a no will be more surprising to hear.

Lucy shakes her head. "No," she answers.

"No?" James' heart drops and he swallows thickly. "You really don't think so? Because I _know _you, Luce. Probably as well as anyone else on earth, maybe more."

"We wouldn't be good together because I'd only break your heart. And you and I could never be friends again after that." She thinks of Jack as she says it and shudders, knowing that unless and until he is somehow removed from the picture, she can never give herself completely to someone else. And eventually that would drive James away. She couldn't handle that. She won't.

"Well maybe I'd break yours," he smiles slightly, offering her a chance to banter.

"No one breaks my heart," Lucy says matter-of-factly. "And besides, why would I want that?"

"So you picked him because he's the one more likely to be able to stay friends if you ever break up?"

"That's… not what I said."

"You didn't need to. You picked him because he's safer. Because you know you won't ever let him get too close. You don't trust yourself with me."

"I picked him because I love him."

And it's not a lie. But it's not entirely the truth, either.

* * *

><p>As Jo sits in class, steadfastly ignoring the mean smirks and glances being tossed her way by friends of Jett and Mercedes, she feels none of the old anxiety or tension that she's been harboring ever since winter break. It's funny how now, near the end of the semester, what happened between her and Jett feels simultaneously like it was ages ago and like it was just yesterday.<p>

But either way, it's over.

Jett's been staying away from her, whether out of guilt or something else, she doesn't know or care. But as she goes over notes on her desk, mentally preparing for the oral presentation she's about to give, she finds that everything that was stressing her out just days ago no longer matters. The whispering behind her back, being stared at everywhere she goes… it's all just stupid. What matters, she realizes now, is that she knows the truth. She knows it, her family knows it, and her friends know it. And, no matter the outcome of the trial… Jett knows it too. And that's enough for her. She's done worrying about it.

So when her name is called and she stands up to move to the front of the room, and she hears a few sniggers from the girls at the back of the room, all she does is inhale calmly and give her presentation exactly as she'd practiced it, her voice not shaking once, and her eyes not betraying an ounce of fear or insecurity.

At lunchtime, she walks right past the table where Jett and his rich-boy douchebag posse sit with their stuck-up cheerleader girlfriends, laughing raucously about who knows what, and doesn't spare them a glance. Instead she sits at what has become her usual table with Kendall and Camille and everyone else, giving Kendall a peck on the lips and linking arms with Camille.

After school, Jo finds herself alone in the girls' room, washing her hands and preparing to leave when the door opens and Mercedes Griffin walks in, stopping short when she catches sight of the girl at the sink.

"Oh. Um, hi," Mercedes says.

"Hi…" Jo answers warily, tossing her paper towel in the trash can and slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"How—how are you?"

Jo knits her eyebrows together. "Do you actually care?"

"I—well… yeah, I do," Mercedes blushes. "I know everything's been… all fucked between us… I understand if you don't want to talk to me."

"I haven't wanted to talk to anyone until recently," Jo comments. "And even then, it didn't really turn out so great."

"Do you think… If I ask you what really happened that night, would you tell me?"

"You know what happened."

"I know what people are saying. I know what Jett is saying. I want to know what you say."

Jo shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I don't know, Mercedes. It's all just kind of… I want to put it behind me. There's no point in dragging it all out again."

"Come on. Please? I can give you a ride home or whatever."

"Okay," she gives in, seeing the look of sincerity on her former best friend's face.

When they get home, Mercedes kicks off her shoes and tosses her bag on the empty armchair, just as she used to do before she and Jo had had their falling out, forgetting momentarily that the girl in front of her was no longer her best friend; was, in fact, almost a stranger. Far from the shy girl from North Carolina, embarrassed when the other girls talked openly about their sex lives, who winced every time someone said the f-word, who was soft spoken to the point of docility. No, there's definitely something different about her now, Mercedes thinks. She's still quiet, but she's stronger somehow.

"So, about that night," Mercedes starts.

And so, Jo talks. She speaks clearly, methodically, almost as if she doesn't even hear what she's saying. But at this point she's told the story so many times to so many people—James, Kendall, her father, her therapist, her lawyers, the judge—she could probably say it in her sleep.

But she starts from the beginning, from hanging out with Mercedes at first, then going to the party and drinking, asking Jett to go upstairs… She swallows and glances at the girl with her jaw clenched shut, not wanting to scare her or be too graphic, since this is the girl's current boyfriend and all_. _But this is her friend… or, she used to be, anyway, and well, she asked for it.

"And then he… I didn't want to—but he didn't stop even when I said no, and then next thing I know I'm crying and he's getting off me and I'm alone and half naked and fully drunk…and I just… didn't quite understand what had happened, just that it hurt and I needed help…"

She talks about being the one to call the cops on the party to have it busted up, about it taking a couple of days to sink in what had happened, and not being able to tell anyone because she was too ashamed, afraid that people would just call her a slut and say it was her fault for getting drunk to the point that that was she started believing herself. Plus the guilt she felt from lying to her father and also for breaking her purity vow all just built up inside her.

"When you stopped speaking…" Mercedes says quietly. "No one… we were all scared at first. We didn't understand why you'd gone all—"

"Crazy."

"Well…"

"Thinking about it was torture… but talking about it felt like it would be even worse. I thought that if I didn't speak, I wouldn't think…It was stupid logic. Anyway so finally my dad didn't know what else to do, I was just… in this like, catatonic state, so he decided to put me in therapy at the Palm Woods and at first it was pretty stupid, like, I would sit in this room and not speak to my doctor, and then I would sit in another room just to not speak to my group session and it was this endless cycle of people trying to help me and me refusing to be helped."

"So what changed?"

"I don't know exactly," Jo frowns. "But I think…"

"Yeah?"

"You know Logan Mitchell?"

"That kid who slit his wrists and almost died?" Mercedes asks bluntly.

Jo nods, cringing slightly. "Well he got put in my group and it's like… I don't know, once he got there, things started changing for everyone. Maybe I'm just putting too much into it because of the timing. It could just be coincidence, but I don't think it is. He… It was like, up until he got there, we were all just… just _there, _and we didn't really care about or want to talk about our feelings and be shrinked by a bunch of psychiatrists. We were just there because we had to be. But for some reason… Logan changed that. We became real friends after he got there."

"God… Jo, I'm really sorry… for kicking you off cheerleading and for not ever asking you what was wrong and just… being such a complete and total shit friend. I was so concerned about being captain and then Jett asked me out…"

"It's okay," Jo hears herself say, surprised to find that she actually means it.

"It's not," Mercedes says. "I'd heard about… And I just didn't want to believe you because it was just easier if you were lying… But then, I don't know. The way he's been like, _bragging _about how they had to let him off because your case had no proof. And like, just the way he was talking about it, it didn't sound like someone who was innocent, you know? It sounded like someone who got away with something, and that scares me."

"I don't… I never meant… to break you guys up or anything, I just—you should know what he's capable of—"

"Don't even," Mercedes interrupts, wiping away a tear from her eye and pulling Jo into a tight hug that the other girl returns just as tightly. "He and I are _so _over."

* * *

><p>Jo jumps nearly a foot in the air when her locker door is suddenly slammed shut. She resists the instinct to cower in fear at the stocky boy in front of her, instead keeping her head up and not letting her eyes show the anxiety she always feels whenever he gets too close.<p>

"What is your problem, Taylor?" Jett asks, an angry look on his face.

"Excuse me?" She replies calmly.

"It's not enough for you to drag this whole fucking thing out," he snarls, leaning in closer to her face. She takes a step backward. "You have to go and tell all your little fucked-up friends, and do this whole court thing and practically _ruin _my life! And _then _you go and get my girlfriend to dump me! And for what? What is the goddamn point?"

"The _point_?" Jo hisses. "You _raped _me."

"God, _fine_! I did. Are you happy?" He bangs his fist into the shut locker with a loud clang.

Jo's jaw nearly drops in surprise. "What? You admit it?"

"Well I figure I must have done _something_ to make you hate me, since you keep fucking punishing me for it."

A rage such as Jo has never felt bubbles up inside her, a fury so powerful that it makes her nauseous. "You did this," she says slowly, her voice shaking with suppressed anger. "Don't you _dare _try to hold me responsible for your pathetic life. You do _not _get to blame me for whatever shit you've gotten."

She steps back and turns away from him, fully wishing that she'll never have to deal with him again. However, he grabs her arm and yanks her back around to face him. "This conversation is not over," he spits.

"It is," Jo snaps, wrenching her arm from his grasp, surprising him with the amount of force she's able to muster up.

"You listen here," Jett says, stepping into her personal space again. "I don't know what you told her, but you'd better—"

"She told the truth," comes another voice from a few feet away. Jo turns to find Mercedes approaching the scene. She marches right up to the pair and puts herself between Jett and Jo, glaring up at her now ex-boyfriend. "You're done here."

"Mercedes, you can't seriously—"

"You're _done _here," she repeats scathingly, crossing her arms as if daring him to argue.

Jett turns, muttering "fucking bitches" under his breath.

"Oh and Jett?" He turns. "One more thing." Mercedes knees him in the groin, eliciting a grunt of pain as the boy falls to his knees.

This time Jo's jaw really does drop as she looks from the boy writhing in pain on the ground to the girl beside her calmly surveying her nails as if she has no matters more pressing than her chipped manicure. "You didn't have to do that."

"What the hell is this?"

Jo and Mercedes turn in unison to find Kendall and James coming around the corner, their backpacks slung over their shoulders and bags of hockey gear in tow.

"Just helping Jo here take care of a little trash," Mercedes answers with a smirk. "See you around."

"I'll explain later," Jo smiles, taking Kendall's hand and linking her other arm through James', walking between them down the hallway without a backward glance at Jett.

* * *

><p>When Lucy walks up to her house, she can tell right away that something is amiss. Both her mother's and her stepfather's cars are in the driveway, meaning they're both at home this early on a workday. That never happens. They're rarely home at the same time anymore, both working odd and long hours to make ends meet.<p>

She steps inside apprehensively, wondering if she's somehow in trouble. Did the school call again about her skipping class? Or her detentions for smoking on campus? But when she shuts the door behind her, she can hear Jack's low voice coming from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of her mother sniffling. Lucy's heart lurches.

"Mom?"

"Lucy." Her mother stands and rushes toward her, pulling her into a tight embrace that she can't even find the strength to return. She looks toward Jack for some kind of answer, not daring to hope that he could be of any comfort to her.

"W-what's going on?"

Mrs. Stone only continues to cry and so Jack says, finally, "It's your grandmother."

"What about her?" _No, _she thinks. _It's not what you think, it can't be what you think. _It's as if her worst fears are coming true.

"Lucy. She had a stroke," her mother tells her, holding onto her shoulders and then hugging her again.

Lucy's brain refuses to process it. "What? What are we doing here? We have to go to her, we have to see her! Why is she there all alone?" Her limbs are starting to tremble with a mixture of panic and disbelief. "We have to go," she repeats. Why does no one get it? Why aren't they moving?

"There was nothing they could do, Lucy," Jack says gravely, looking into her eyes not with sympathy but with nothing but a cold emptiness. But she would expect nothing less from him.

"Nothing… no…" She's dizzy. It's not true. It can't be true. This is a dream. It's a nightmare she'll wake up from and she'll be able to visit the nursing home and this time she won't just watch her sleep, she'll make sure she's awake so she can tell her she loves her. "No," she says again.

"I'm sorry," Jack sighs, placing a hand back on her mother's shoulder as she dissolves into tears again and sinks back down onto the chair she was previously occupying.

They don't stop her as she turns and flees to her room, don't come to check on her when her door slams shut. She feels sick, lightheaded, seeing spots in the air that aren't really there. _No no no no…. _"NO!" It becomes a mantra in her head, the only thing she can think or focus on as she wrenches her dresser drawer open and pulls out the small box that she hasn't used in ages, the one she hadn't quite worked up to getting rid of completely. "You were supposed to help her," she cries out loud, speaking to no one or to God or to herself. "She was supposed to get better." Lucy blindly reaches for the smooth piece of metal, furious at everyone and everything and she pulls her sleeve back, not caring that her parents are only a room away, that she doesn't even have any bandages nearby, that she promised James she wouldn't do it anymore.

_James. _

She hesitates for the slightest of seconds, but no, he's not here, and he's not enough to stop her this time, so with a choked sob the presses the sharp blade to her forearm, making a deep downward cut. It's deeper than she anticipated, stings more than she remembers. Because it's been so long? Or because she's usually high when she does it? Either way, her mind starts coming back into focus as she watches the blood drip, staining her sheets. Physical pain she can deal with. Physical pain she can control. But this? This is too much. She makes another long cut and regrets it instantly, this one hurting more than the first.

Dropping the blade back into the box she stumbles her way to the bathroom, wetting a towel and pressing it to her arm to try and stem the flow of blood. It works, kind of, so she rolls her sleeve back down over it and looks in the mirror at her tangled hair, her runny mascara and eyeliner, her red nose. Despite the stinging in her arm, she already wants to do it again, unable to fathom that any pain she inflicts on herself will ever match what she's feeling inside.

With shaky hands, she controls her urge and closes the box, zipping it inside her backpack and throwing it over her uninjured arm. She opens the door to her room and leaves the house, her parents still sitting in the kitchen, unaware of her actions or the fact that she's leaving again. Lucy grabs the bicycle sitting just inside the garage, knocking the helmet over and leaving it on the ground as she slings her leg over the bar.

As much as she wants to pretend that she doesn't know where she's going, that she's just blindly riding around to get away from her house, she knows it isn't true. She knows exactly what she's doing. Who she needs to see.

His car is parked in the driveway when she gets there, along with another one that must belong to his mother, and she thinks briefly about abandoning this idea and going to see Carlos, like she probably should have—he's her boyfriend, after all—but then she just thinks, _fuck it, _who cares if his mother's home, who cares about anything anymore? She's gone and she's never coming back and Lucy never got to say goodbye, never got to show her that she was trying to get better, never got to tell her she loved her, and so really, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things if Mrs. Diamond is home when she needs to see James?

She lets the bike fall the ground, leaving it in the front yard as she goes up to the porch, ringing the doorbell and not even attempting to make herself look more presentable, instead letting the tears fall as they come, not realizing that her cut up arm is still bleeding, crimson patches spreading out over the sleeve of her light blue shirt.

"I got it, Mom!"

Lucy hears James shout a second before the door opens.

"Lucy? What the-?" He's surprised to see her but then her appearance registers, first her tear-stained face and then her arm hanging limply by her side.

She can't even say anything as he pulls her inside the house, practically dragging her to the kitchen so he can grab the first-aid kit his mother keeps handy, thanking God that she's busy with a conference call. James inhales sharply when he pulls up her sleeve, the two long slices she made in her skin appearing read and angry, and he's surprised she hasn't passed out yet, what with how much blood she must have lost by now. He's no doctor—hell, he's no _Logan_—but he doesn't think her arm needs stitches, so he cleans it up and sprays some antibiotic on it so it won't get infected, murmuring that it's going to sting, wondering whether he should be impressed or worried that she doesn't even flinch.

With bandages wrapped firmly around her arms, Lucy finally looks like she's starting to snap out of her stupor, glancing between her arm and James' concerned face.

"Lucy—"

"She's gone." Her voice cracks as finally speaks the truth she's been trying to suppress ever since she walked into her house. "She's gone."

"Who are you-?"

"My grandmother. She had a stroke."

"Oh my God," James says. He doesn't know much about Lucy's family. Nothing at all, really, except that she hates her stepdad and that her grandmother pays for her therapy. "I'm sorry."

Lucy doesn't think she's ever cried this much in her whole life, but she can't seem to stop now that she's started, and she wonders if it's somehow possible to just run out of tears. James pulls her to his side, cradling her gently, letting her soak his shirt as he wraps his arms around her, heart breaking for her as she trembles with the force of her sobs.

"I should have been there," she says, her voice muffled as she speaks into his chest. "I should have been there with her! She was all alone!"

"Shh, it's okay," he tries to tell her soothingly. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have _been _with her! This wasn't supposed to happen! She was supposed to get better." Lucy wipes her face with her clean sleeve. "Why didn't she get better?"

"I don't know," James breathes.

"I need her," she cries. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

The pressure inside her chest starts to build up, the feeling that she needs to release some of the chaos inside her and she pulls away from James and reaches for her bag, pulling out the small box and handing it to James. "Take this."

Frowning with curiosity, he opens it and peers inside. "Are these-?"

"I never got rid of them," Lucy says with a sniff. "In case of an emergency," she adds sardonically.

"Lucy, you can't—"

"I know I can't! That's why you need to take them. Because I don't know what I'll do if I keep them!"

"Okay. Okay."

She's a wreck, and she knows it. But all she can do is give in to her emotions as she thinks about her grandmother (the one person she ever felt truly, truly connected to), which leads her to thinking about how she was the reason Lucy agreed to go into therapy, which leads her to succumbing to the images of Jack flashing through her brain—Jack creeping into her bedroom when her mother was working the late shift, Jack pinning her down to her own bed, ignoring her protests, hitting her, forcing himself inside her, threatening to kill her if she ever told.

And so she cries, not just for her grandmother, but for herself, for the red-headed girl from therapy, for everything that's ever gone wrong in her life, as if years of trying to numb her pain with drugs and razorblades have come back suddenly to bite her with a vengeance, forcing her once and for all to face her emotions rather than attempt not to feel them. She cries and cries and she's grateful for James just letting her be there, for him not saying any cliché things like 'everything happens for a reason,' because that's all just bullshit anyway. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there _is _no reason, and there's no greater purpose or lesson to be gained.

And when James kisses her forehead and looks down at her and she hears him say, "I love you," she cries for that, too, because he's perfect and she loves him back but it can never be the way he wants it, and it's a shame, really, that she'll never, ever be able to give him what he wants.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew. Sorry that took so long to get up. Three weeks I think? I hope the length made up for it, though. Love you guys. Don't forget to review andor hit me up on my tumblr at xo-wintershine! **


	16. Some Days

**Wow. Hi. I can't even apologize enough for disappearing on you guys like that. It's been over two months but I promise I'm still here. I AM going to finish this story through, and then I'll probably be taking a bit of a hiatus from writing for awhile. I got really burned out on this story and went back and forth for a long time when trying to decide where to go with it, but I DO have that worked out now. So please don't hate me and please please please review and let me know your thoughts on the chapter. **

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><p><em>Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know, maybe we just wouldn't feel real. –Grey's Anatomy<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 16: Some Days<p>

_Some days, they taste like lemonade.  
>And some days can feel like razorblades. <em>

* * *

><p>The funeral is torture. Pure torture. Lucy has to sit there in the front row, listening to obscure family members tell her how sorry they are for her loss, pretending to accept their words of comfort when really all the while she's screaming on the inside.<p>

_Loss. _She hates that word. You can't _lose _a person. She didn't misplace her grandmother. She's not going to find her under the bed or behind the closet doors. It's stupid to keep referring to her like that. She isn't lost, Lucy thinks. She's _gone. _Dead. And it's a concept Lucy's had plenty of time to think about over the last few months in therapy. (Because, really, how many times _had_ she thought about it? Every single time she added a cut to her arm or her thigh, she wondered if she would ever dare to go a step further. Every time she saw the scar on Logan's wrist, she wondered how close she came to never meeting him at all. Every time she set foot in the Palm Woods, she felt a pang of guilt in her chest, knowing that she, however indirectly, was the cause of a death that happened there.)

She's numb at this point.

Having cried to the point of exhaustion with James, she'd resolved to lock those feelings away, so when she left his house that evening, she went straight to Carlos to tell him the news, and she had not shed a single tear since that night. He was a bit disconcerted at her lack of emotion, thinking it couldn't be a good thing that she was refusing to allow herself to feel anything. But he didn't know she had already been to see James, and she wasn't going to tell him. No need to cause another fight over James.

And today, midmorning on a Saturday, she wishes Carlos could be here with her now too, because she wants him to distract her, to take her mind off of everything—her grandmother and Jack and Lauren Murray and the fact that James is sitting a few rows behind her, having come to support her since he's no longer required to be in therapy during the weekends.

She'd allowed James to see her in her moments of weakness, and that was a mistake she couldn't afford to make again.

After, when Jack guides away her mother, who's sobbing into a tissue, Lucy remains in her chair, legs and arms both crossed as she stares unseeingly at what is now a mound of dirt covering the spot where her grandmother lays beneath the earth.

She's starting to wish she hadn't given James her razorblades. But then, it's really not that hard to acquire new ones.

As soon as she thinks it, the boy in question taps her shoulder gently, making her jump in her seat. She doesn't say anything to him and he doesn't either, perhaps not knowing what to say, or perhaps knowing that nothing he does say would be of any help. He takes the chair beside her, unbuttoning his suit jacket and loosening his tie, trying not to think about how pretty Lucy looks with her nice tights and heels and black dress with bits of purple embroidery.

They sit in silence for a few minutes until finally Lucy looks toward James, seeing that he's been watching her. James thinks that she's about to say something, but the moment passes and she breaks their eye contact, instead standing up to go and join her family, shaking her head as she passes.

* * *

><p>"<em>You'd better bring me a good souvenir<em>," Logan says into the phone. "_Since I'm pretty much the reason you're even going on this trip._"

Kendall scoffs. "How are _you _the reason my dad invited me to spend Spring Break with him?"

"_Duh_." Kendall can practically hear the grin in his voice. _"I guilted you into talking to him in the first place."_

"That is not entirely true," the blond boy says, throwing a handful of clean underwear into his haphazardly, half-packed suitcase.

"_Semantics," _argues Logan. _"What time's your flight again?" _

"Ten," Kendall sighs. "Which I'm sure means my mother will want me to be awake by six."

"_Ugh. Okay. I'll let you get to it, then. Have fun. See you next week."_

"Thanks."

Kendall tosses the phone onto his bed, immediately losing it under a pile of t-shirts, beanies, socks, and pullovers. He does a mental checklist in his head: phone charger, toothbrush, deodorant, razor and shaving cream, comb… When he's sure he has everything at least in the vicinity of his suitcase, he rubs his eyes tiredly, suddenly feeling anxious. He's convinced his mom and Katie that this was a great idea, that he was going to have a good time with his dad (and new stepmom and half-brother), that there was nothing to worry about. But the closer it got to his departure, the more nervous he became.

What would they talk about? What would they do together? Would his stepmother be nice? Or would she be a total nightmare? Would she know about everything he'd been through the past few months? Because he can handle the stares in the hallways at school, the talking behind his back, the way his old hockey teammates kind of refuse to make eye contact with him anymore. He can handle that because he has his friends, and his mom and sister to come home to. He's not sure if he' be able to take it 24/7.

Before he starts to doubt whether this is a good idea after all, Kendall shoves the rest of his belongings into his black suitcase and zips it shut. He glances at the clock and groans. It's nearly midnight already and he's got a long day ahead of him.

Kendall feels like it must only be seconds later that he's being gently woken up by Mrs. Knight, but a bleary glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him differently. Sure enough, it's barely after five AM, and his mother is far too cheerfully reminding him that they need to leave in an hour for the airport, and he better get up and get ready. He sits up to placate her, but as soon as she leaves the room, Kendall buries himself back under the covers. He's right on the verge of falling back into a blissful sleep when Katie comes in and jumps on top of him.

"Ughhh, Katie! What are you doing?"

"Mom told me to come make sure you were awake."

"I'm awake," he says, his voice muffled into his pillow.

"Good. Hurry up and come downstairs."

"Fuuuuck," Kendall sighs, forgetting to censor himself for Katie's benefit. When he feels her weight lifted off him, Kendall sits up for real, deciding that a cold shower will wake him up.

After, he feels tired but more functional, and when he's dressed and has his toothbrush and toiletries packed, Kendall drags his suitcase down the stairs, letting it thud down each step instead of picking it up. He grimaces at Katie as she squeezes ketchup on to her scrambled eggs and sits down at the table, letting his head rest on his arms.

"Come on, Kendall," Mrs. Knight says, setting a plate in front of him. "We need to leave soon."

"My flight isn't even for"—he looks down at his phone for the time—"almost four hours!"

"It'll take us almost an hour to get there," she replies calmly. "And it's spring break, Kendall. Tons of people will be traveling; it'll take you ages to get through security, and then you have to find your gate. So eat your breakfast and put away your plate so we can leave."

Grumbling, he picks up his fork and stabs at his own scrambled egg, trying not to feel queasy. He'd been on a plane a few times before—family trips to visit Mark Knight's family in Vermont, and a vacation to Niagara Falls when he was twelve. It wasn't the prospect of flying that made him nervous; it was the prospect of seeing his father for the first time in so long. Even now, he kind of can't believe this is really happening. That he managed to get on good terms with Mark, that he'd agreed and even been excited about going to visit him and meeting his new wife.

Katie and Mrs. Knight hug him goodbye inside the terminal, but they can't wait with him because of security. Katie holds onto him for just a beat longer than strictly necessary, telling him without words that she's glad he's doing this, even if she herself isn't ready to see their dad.

As it turns out, his mother was right. The airport is packed, and it does take ages for him to get through the security line. He checks his ticket for his gate number and heads off in what he hopes is the right direction, stopping once for a coffee and then once more to pick up a sports magazine that catches his eye.

Despite how long it takes to find his gate, he still has a bit over an hour to kill before boarding time. He takes out his phone to text someone but then realizes that everyone is likely to be sleeping in on the first day of spring break.

_Nothing to do but wait… _

* * *

><p>James, his dad, and Evelyn are sitting around the kitchen table Monday morning, enduring an incredibly awkward and silent meal when Mr. Diamond clears his throat and peers over the top of his newspaper at James. James looks up with his fork halfway to his mouth, throat dry because he's sure he knows what his father's about to tell him. He doesn't even know how to react or what to think. Should he act surprised? Or come clean that he already knows? Before he makes a decision, Mr. Diamond speaks.<p>

"Well, son," he begins clumsily. "I, that is, we—Evelyn and I—first of all wanted to congratulate you on, er, your accomplishment. We're both very happy that you were able to…successfully complete your program."

"…Thanks, Dad," James answers warily.

"Now, we have a bit of news that we've been waiting until the proper moment to share with you, and we think that time has finally come. Evelyn is going to have baby."

James is startled by how shocked he is, given that he already knew this piece of information. Hearing the words out loud, directed at him, made impossibly more real…he knows the look of surprise on his face genuine. No acting necessary.

"I… oh," is all he manages to get out. He looks back and forth between them wondering if he should or even if he can say anything else. "Um, congratulations. That… That's great."

Mr. Diamond's cell phone rings from his pocket and he takes it out and looks at the screen before answering it and stepping out of the room to take the call. He might be off work for a few days, but the office always has a way of dragging him back in.

James clears his throat awkwardly and takes a bite of his food just to avoid having to say anything to Evelyn, who looks like she wants to continue speaking. He can't get over the fact that she's close enough to him in age to be his own sister, yet here she was, his _stepmother, _about to give birth to his real brother or sister. Weird.

"So… things will probably get pretty crazy around here," Evelyn starts hesitantly. "Getting ready for the baby and all."

Normally he would shrug and remain silent or say something noncommittal like "Yeah, I guess," and leave it at that, but remembering his resolve to try to be more mature about everything, he decides to at least try to be polite.

"You must be excited," he tries.

He can't miss how her face lights up when he engages her in conversation.

"Terrified, actually," she says with a small smile. "I've never really been around kids before. I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Well… no time like the present to learn, right?" He grins at her and is surprised to find that it is genuine.

"Guess so," Evelyn laughs as Mr. Diamond walks back into the room looking upset.

"There's been a problem with the shipment orders," he says. "I have to go back into the office and see what I can do to fix this."

"Oh, but I thought you were going to come with me to get the sonogram," Evelyn says, disappointed.

"I know, I'm sorry," James' father says, already dialing another number on his cell. "I really have to get this taken care of. I'll see you tonight."

He exits the kitchen, barking orders into his phone as he goes, and James watches somewhat guiltily as Evelyn stands up to clear the table. He'd been planning on going back to his mom's place, maybe calling up Logan to hang out, but the sad look on Evelyn's face makes him hesitate. Only now does he realize how lonely it must get for her here, with Mr. Diamond always working and James always escaping to his room or leaving the first chance he gets. She'd quit her job when she married his dad, and it's finally dawning on him how hard it must really be.

"I'll go with you, if you want," James blurts quickly, before he can change his mind.

"You don't—really?" She asks. "I know you were planning to go home…"

James shrugs his shoulders up and down. "It's no big deal."

* * *

><p>Kendall's never been much of a nervous talker, but for some reason he finds that he cannot. Shut. Up. He chatters to his dad about school and Jo and the guys and Katie and the weather and everything else he can think of, barely letting Mark Knight get a word in edgewise. He knows he must sound totally crazy, but he can't bear the idea of letting an awkward silence fall between them. He's afraid if they stop talking, they'll never start again.<p>

Mark smiles and nods in all the right places, feeling a measure of nervousness himself. He allows Kendall to fill the silence, enjoying the sound of his son's voice and the fact that he really is sitting in the car with him, in his actual, physical presence for the first time in two years. He should probably give Kendall a heads up about what to expect at home… but, well… they can cross that bridge when they get to it.

"…thinking we'll both probably take classes at the community college for a year and then try to transfer to UMinn, so once I'm there I can try out for the hockey team and see how it goes from there," Kendall is saying. "It's just… I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with my life if I can't play hockey, and I know it's my fault and everything, but then it's like, well maybe I shouldn't be worrying about this yet because, you know, I still have to like, make sure I'm totally better, which I'm not yet. Sorry. I'm talking a lot. Am I freaking you out? I'm freaking you out."

"You're not freaking me out," Mark chuckles, turning at a stop sign into a very picturesque suburban neighborhood. "I just hope all of this doesn't freak _you _out."

"What do you mean?" Kendall asks.

"Being here, meeting Kathryn and the kids. They're very excited to meet you, Ken," Mark says, using a nickname Kendall hasn't heard in ages.

Kendall blinks. "Wait, kids? As in.. plural?"

Mark pulls into the driveway in front of a large two-story house that has a giant front porch with a swing, neatly trimmed hedges, and a perfectly manicured lawn. It could be the cover photo for Better Homes and Gardens.

"I didn't quite get to tell you," his dad says, turning off the ignition. "Kathryn and I do have a son, Michael—your brother—but she also has a daughter from a previous marriage."

Their conversation is cut short when they exit the car to find Kathryn—Kendall's stepmother—and two kids making their way from the front door to greet them. He doesn't quite know how to react or what to say, but he doesn't really have time to think about it because Kathryn is instantly pulling him into a bear-hug.

"You must be Kendall! I'm Kathryn, I'm SO excited to meet you! How was your flight? You must be exhausted! Come inside and put your things away! Wait! First you have to meet Michael—" she stoops down to pick up the toddler standing by her ankles, thrusting him into Kendall's arms—"and my daughter, Melissa."

Kendall looks up and is surprised to find that Melissa is not a young child. She's a teenager. Nearly his age, if his guess is correct. She rolls her eyes behind her mother's back but offers Kendall a smirk and a tilt of the head. Friendly enough. Still carrying his newly-acquainted half-brother, Kendall follows Kathryn up the driveway and into the house, already feeling overwhelmed, wondering if there's any possible way he can go ahead and back out of this whole idea.

Kathryn gives him a tour of the house, then takes Michael from him and goes to put him down for a nap, telling Melissa to show Kendall to his room.

"You go and get settled and rest for a bit and then come downstairs for dinner after awhile, okay?"

"Sorry about her," Melissa mutters when her mom is out of earshot. "She can be a bit much."

"She, um… seems nice," Kendall says, trying to be positive.

"She's ridiculous," the blond girl replies, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. "So. You're my stepbrother, I guess. Your dad's kinda been talking about you nonstop."

Kendall's heart lurches as he wonders just how much they know about him, what his dad's told them.

"Heh," he sort of chuckles nervously. "That's funny, since he seems to have forgotten to mention you."

"No surprise there," Melissa says without humor. "I'm not his kid. Ever since Michael was born neither of them can really be bothered to concern themselves with me."

"I know the feeling." Kendall lets it slip out before he can stop himself. He clears his throat to cover the awkwardness of his statement. "So how old are you, anyway?"

"Fifteen," she answers. "Sixteen this weekend, actually. You'll be here for my party."

"You're having a party?"

"My mom's really into this whole 'sweet sixteen' thing. She's making such a big deal about it. Renting a venue, catering, decorations. Everything."

"That could be cool. Girls are into all that fancy stuff, aren't they?" He grins.

Melissa snorts. "Not me. I plan on livening up the evening, though. My mom doesn't know what she's in for."

"Do I even want to ask what that's supposed to mean?"

"Let me put it like this: if I don't tell you, you can truthfully claim plausible deniability. Plus, I love a good surprise."

She hops off the edge of his bed and trounces out, leaving him to unpack in peace, wondering whether or not he should be concerned about her plans for her birthday.

* * *

><p>"This will feel a bit cool on your stomach, and it might tickle."<p>

James sits nervously on a stool a few feet away from Evelyn, watching as the ultrasound technician squeezes out what looks to him like blue goo over an instrument before rubbing it over his stepmother's stomach. After a moment or two, James hears a whooshing noise and both Evelyn and the tech are staring intently at the screen.

"There's your baby," smiles the woman.

James squints at the screen and tilts his head. Evelyn looks happy enough to burst, no trace of the fear she had confessed to him earlier evident on her face now.

"What's that noise?" James asks.

"That's the baby's heartbeat."

"Oh. Um… can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?"

"It's a bit too early to determine the sex of the baby right now. We'll be able to tell you in a few weeks. It's beautiful, though, isn't it?"

"Er…" James thinks this is going a bit too far, but he squints at the screen again. He can't see anything that really resembles a baby but he smiles and nods purely to be polite.

James doesn't say much for the rest of the appointment. The tech prints out a picture for Evelyn, and then a doctor comes in to go over a few things. There's a slightly awkward moment when she asks if James is the father and Evelyn hurriedly informs her that he's her stepson. James feels his face heat up and he's sure he's bright red—he's never been able to hide it when he's embarrassed—but he doesn't even have time to stutter something coherent before the doctor and Evelyn are chatting away again. He kind of loses track of their conversation as most of what they're saying goes over his head—prenatal vitamins and what kinds of foods she should avoid and whether it's okay to keep going to yoga—and he doesn't even realize it's time to leave until Evelyn is standing up and shaking hands with the doctor.

"Thanks a lot for coming with me today, James," Evelyn says quietly once they're back in the car.

"Sure," James replies. "I mean since my dad couldn't go with you, I figured someone should." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice that he doesn't think to suppress, and he doesn't see the sideways glance from Evelyn.

"He just gets so busy sometimes," she murmurs.

"Trust me, I know," James snorts. "First it's 'I have to take this call,' then 'I just have to run to the office for a bit' and before you know it he's spending every weekend there and you can't even go on a vacation or invite him to a choir performance without him being on the phone or sending emails the entire time. If he even shows up at all."

He scowls out the window, biting down on his bottom lip to remind himself to shut up. Still, James feels kind of bad for her. Or at least sympathetic because he knows how it feels to be let down by Mr. Diamond, and it's a shame that this kid isn't even born yet and already his dad is missing out on major life events. Evelyn doesn't say anything else, so he's forced to sit there and reminisce on pee-wee hockey games and school plays and music recitals that his dad either didn't go to because of work or spent the whole time typing away on his Blackberry.

He remembers this one game… at least nine or ten years ago. It was the last game of the season and Mr. Diamond hadn't been to any that year, but he promised he'd be there to watch James play. Sure enough, James spotted his dad in the crowd right before the whistle blew to start the first period. He remembers how hockey used to be his _thing, _before singing became his thing. Which was before having mental breakdowns and getting sent to therapy were his thing. He remembers how he'd actually been buddies with Kendall that year because of hockey—because they were the tallest boys on the team and therefore the best, since they were too young for anyone to tell the difference. Anyway, James played a great a game. He even scored a goal and he passed to Kendall once to score a goal. But by the time the game was over and James went to meet his parents, his dad was already gone. He'd only watched that first period.

James quit hockey that year.

Which sucked because he actually really liked it. Looking back on it… he thinks that he probably quit because he just wanted his parents to care. He wanted them to tell him to stick with it, to encourage him, to tell him that they'd try to be better about going to his games. But they didn't. His mother merely shrugged her shoulders, saying, "If that's what you want, James," and his father wasn't even around to hear his decision. As usual.

The thing was, it wasn't that his mother didn't _care _whether he played or not. James just always had the kind of childhood where he had and did whatever he wanted. And at the time, it was what he thought he wanted.

Now he realizes that all he really wanted was for someone to show him they were there for him.

* * *

><p>Camille has to fight down a wave of nausea and anxiety when she steps off the scale.<p>

She's almost in a state of disbelief.

Because the number on the scale matches the number on her goal sheet set by her doctors.

And for a fleeting, brief, shining moment, she was happy about it. But then reality set in and crashed down around her and she realizes what that means. It means she gained weight. Like… a significant amount. Enough to be considered for release from the Palm Woods.

She pushes that thought out of her mind for the moment—_we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, _she tells herself—and stops to try to focus her breathing. She's telling herself over and over again that the number doesn't mean what she thinks it means.

_Too heavy. _

It's the only thing she can think. The number, it's just so high, and she wishes it weren't and she wishes she could stop wishing that because she'd thought recovery meant she would be able to put this all behind her and carry on with her life. It turns out, recovery only means learning to live with how much she hates herself.

It scares her and it's awful, but what else can she do? She can't voice how she feels because it just sounds too crazy, even for her. Why? Why is she like this? How can she go from feeling like she can take on anything one day, to feeling like she should just never leave her bed again the next? And then on those days, she _does _have to get out of bed and attempt to function, but it's just so _hard _when all day long her thoughts are consumed with her relationship with food.

Wake up. Attempt to be excited about life. Breakfast—eat it or not? Find clothes that don't make you look gigantic (hint: no such clothes exist. You look gigantic in everything). Go to school. Function. Try not to have an anxiety attack in all social situations because all you can do is wonder how anyone can stand to be around you and your hugeness. Deal with the constant headaches, the dizziness, being so _fucking _cold all the time. Go home and be alone with your thoughts. Think about calling someone and then decide not to because they're all probably tired of being burdened by you. (_You're not a burden to Logan, _she tells herself. _He loves you. _And maybe he does, but that doesn't mean he's not getting tired of listening to you say the same things over and over.) And then dinner—seriously, you have to eat it, you're supposed to be in 'recovery' even though 'recovered' is not even close to how she feels about this. Think about how exhausting today was and how tomorrow will just as bad or probably worse, and go to bed hoping that when you close your eyes, they won't open again.

Trouble is, they always do. So you do the whole thing over again, and sometimes there are bright spots where you don't feel totally miserable, but they are always always always replaced by periods of empty blackness that leave you feeling worthless.

When she brings herself to look in the mirror, the number on the scale screams at her from inside her head. Too heavy. Disgusting. Quitter. Out of control. She looks herself up and down, seeing how her cheeks are no longer hollowed, her collarbones not as defined as they once were, her ribs not visible under the layer of _fat _she's put on. Everything on her body is _wrong _and she misses being bony and _thin _and it sucks because she _knows _it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

So Camille crawls back into bed, even though it's the middle of the day. Her dad isn't home to check on her or ask her what's wrong, and she's grateful for that because at least now she won't have to lie and pretend to be happy about the number on the scale. She checks her phone to find a missed call and a text from Logan, both of which she ignores in favor of closing her eyes and pretending to not exist. She pops a single anxiety pill because she knows it'll make her feel numb for awhile and the numbness at this point is better than all the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.

She's in recovery. She's "healthy" again.

And she hates it.

* * *

><p>After what Kendall feels is an incredibly awkward dinner, and an even more awkward family 'quality time' hour, he goes up to his room to call Jo and check in with her, leaving the door cracked open.<p>

"_Hey,"_ she answers, picking up on the second ring.

"Hi," Kendall says into the phone, feeling more relaxed just hearing her voice. Sitting down at the table with Kathryn and her kids had been tense. They were almost _too _nice. It was weird. "I miss you. How are you?"

"_I miss you too," _Jo replies. _"I'm okay. How's your dad?"_

Kendall launches into the story, telling her about how he didn't even know he had a stepsister and how they all live in this huge, perfect house in a perfect neighborhood filled with perfect gardens and expensive cars in every driveway.

"And then there's me, this skinny grunged-out looking kid from Minnesota with shaggy hair and a beanie, and they keep saying how they want me to be part of the family and it's just like… like, fuck, you know? Like I came out here to get my dad back in my life, and I guess I just didn't think about the fact that that would mean bringing _his _whole life."

"_It's going to take some time, Kendall. Maybe more than a spring break trip." _

"I know," he sighs. "I just… I hope this wasn't a mistake. Everything seems so different. I look at him sometimes and I can't even believe this guy is my dad. And it's not even that he's remarried, I don't think… Or maybe it is. I mean, Kathryn's nice and everything, but she's just… she's not-"

"_She's not your mom," _Jo finishes for him. _"I get it._ _But he is your dad_. _He wants this to work just as bad as you do, remember? He called you first, after all." _

"True. You're right."

"_Don't get too worked up over nothing yet, okay? Just see how things go. Then you'll be back here with me and everything will work itself out." _

Kendall smiles even though she can't see it. They're quiet for a minute or two, being together though separated by miles and miles of distance.

"_I guess I should go," _Jo says reluctantly. _"I'll talk to you again soon. I love you." _

The door to his room slides open quietly and his stepsister comes inside. "I love you, too," he says into the phone before clicking it off and staring surprisedly at the girl in front of him.

"Girlfriend?" Melissa asks, running her hand through her hair.

"Yeah," Kendall answers. "Are you, um… going somewhere?"

The girl looks like she's raided Lucy Stone's closet, wearing tight ripped jeans and a shirt that bares her stomach. And a lot of black eye makeup. She looks way older than her fifteen years and a surge of older-brother protectiveness courses through him as he thinks about what he would say if he saw Katie wearing something like this.

"You could say that," she smirks. "Sorry about this."

Before he can say anything else, Melissa bends down and reaches underneath the bed that Kendall's lying on, groping blindly for something hidden there. She comes up with a glass bottle full of clear liquid that Kendall knows must be vodka and a plastic zip-lock bag half full of pot.

"Gotta find a new place to stash this while you're here. I forgot to get it earlier," Melissa explains nonchalantly.

"…Oh" is all Kendall manages to reply. He forces himself not to stare at the bottle in her hand, not to think about the familiar burning sensation in his throat or the buzz that makes him numb and helps him forget about everything that's troubling him.

"Right… So. Catch you later, I guess," she says, giving him an odd look.

"Yeah. Later."

_You are such a spaz, Knight, _Kendall thinks to himself. If Melissa didn't think something was up with him before, she definitely would now that he'd been such a freak show just from being in the same room as alcohol…

* * *

><p>Kendall's eyes snap open in the middle of the night and he's pretty disoriented for a moment or two, not knowing what had woken him up. It's after three in the morning. He blinks into the darkness, listening hard for some clue as to what disrupted his sleep. Muffled giggles and voices are coming from down the hall—Melissa's room—and he hesitates briefly before easing out of bed and padding quietly down the hall in his pajama pants and socks.<p>

The door to her room is ajar so he decides to enter. Melissa sits on the floor giggling at nothing in particular while another girl looks on amusedly, abruptly shutting up when she spots Kendall.

"You must be the brother," she says, slurring a little bit before erupting into another fit of giggles.

"Um. Stepbrother," Kendall corrects her. "Are you guys okay?"

"Better than okay," Melissa says from her spot on the ground, a relaxed grin on her face and her eyes rimmed red.

_They're stoned, _he realizes. Wasted. They're a mess. Melissa's hair is messy and her eye makeup looks more smudged than it did earlier, and her friend doesn't seem to have fared any better. They're both sloppy-looking and basically wrecked and Kendall feels a pang of guilt as he realizes they still aren't even half as bad as how he used to come home… He'd get so bad that sometimes he wouldn't even make it home at all, and that scared Katie even more than coming home drunk.

"You guys need to get some food and go to bed," Kendall says, trying to hoist Melissa to her feet.

"Food! Yes!" She exclaims. "Let's go!"

"Hold it! You'll wake up our parents if you guys try to get anything from the kitchen. I'll go grab you some stuff. You guys stay here and change."

Shaking his head at the turn of events, Kendall feels his way in the darkness down to the kitchen where he silently as possible grabs an armful of snack items and heads back up to check on the girls. Melissa and her friend are sprawled on her bed, still giggling and now drinking from the glass bottle Melissa had retrieved from under Kendall's bed earlier.

"Want some?" Melissa offers, waving the bottle under his nose.

"No thanks," he says flatly, scrunching his face and turning his head away from the smell. "Here. You guys need to eat."

He dumps the assortment of crackers and chips and bottled water on the bed between the girls, debating on whether or not he should just leave them to it and stay out of it.

"So are you gonna like, introduce me or what, Melissa?" Her friend asks, tearing open a packet of crackers.

"Taylor, this is Kendall. Kendall, Taylor," Melissa rolls her eyes.

"Isn't Kendall a girl's name?" Taylor laughs.

"I dunno," he mutters distractedly, trying to pry the vodka from Melissa's grip and get her to consume water instead. "I think you've had enough tonight."

"Lighten up, _bro. _You're not gonna like, rat me out to my mom, are you?"

That hadn't even crossed his mind, honestly. "Of course not. But you need to sober up and go to bed. If only so _I _can go back to sleep."

"You can sleep in here with us," Taylor suggests coyly. "Really keep an eye on things, you know."

Kendall suddenly becomes self-conscious of the fact that he's not wearing a shirt and tries to subtly scoot away from her. "I don't think my _girlfriend _would like that very much," he says pointedly.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," she laughs.

The back of his neck reddening, Kendall decides that the two girls are fine for now and stands up to back out of the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as he does, he hears them erupt into another fit of giggles. He leans against the wall just outside Melissa's bedroom for a few moments, feeling uneasy. It had taken more self-restraint than he wanted to admit to refuse to join in with them, the allure of numbing himself so he'd be able to forget about how overwhelming all of this is almost too tempting to keep under control. With more than a bit of reluctance he puts one foot in front of the other, propelling himself down the hallway and back to his own bedroom, where he shuts the bedroom with a deep breath before climbing into bed and falling back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>She doesn't look up when the doorknob to her room turns. She's been dreading it for weeks now. Things were too calm. <em>He <em>was too calm. It had been too long since he came for a visit. She was due.

He'll just have to wait. She has business to attend to.

A long line of blood seeps from the sliced-open skin of her upper leg, and she watches it pool for a while, ignoring the man standing in her doorway, and the phone next to her that buzzes constantly with texts from James and Carlos. _Do you want hang out? Are you okay? Call me back. Lucy, please. I miss you. Where are you? _

Where am I? Right here. Stuck, right here inside my own head. And I'm not coming out. Because only I can hurt myself from in here. No one else. Out there—people leave. They die. And they don't come back. So, no, thank you, I'm fine right here. I don't want to hang out. I'm not okay.

And she doesn't care that he's right there in the room with her as she presses the blade down again, that he's watching her drink from a glass bottle and swallow another pill that will take her away from the present. It can't be too surprising, right? He's seen the growing number of cuts and scars over the years.

_I wonder how Camille would feel if she knew the pills she sells to Carlos go straight to me? _

After a moment she feels a pair of strong arms lifting her from her seated position on the floor and her first thought is of James but in the back of her foggy mind, she knows it can't be him. She blinks Jack into focus and stares up him, saying nothing, _feeling _nothing as he sets her down on her bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. She pulls off her own shirt of her own accord and even unhooks her bra and tosses it to the floor. He eyes her body appreciatively and moves to close the distance between them, the whiskey on his breath mingling with the vodka on hers and his rough hands roaming over her and between her legs.

Lucy closes her eyes and blocks him out as usual, retreating further inside herself, only vaguely aware that he's pulling her shorts down her legs and removing his own jeans. He grabs her wrists and holds them over her head as if to restrain her or stop her from struggling, but there's really no need. She's not resisting. He's just _there _and she knows it's wrong, that he's doing this to her, that it's probably at the base of all her problems… But it's too late now. Everything is wrong, everything is _fucked, _completely and utterly fucked and this right now? It's just one more thing to add to her list of reasons to keep taking those pills and pushing the blades into her skin.

She opens her eyes only when she feels that he has stopped moving, that with one last thrust and a grunt he finishes, burying his face in her neck for a brief second before releasing her wrists and pushing himself off her. Lucy merely watches as he redresses and leaves her room, lying still, disgusted with him and herself and the whole world. Her phone buzzes again with yet another text from James.

_Seriously Lucy, if you don't answer me soon I'm going to come over there. _

Don't, she thinks. Don't bother. But before she can formulate a response and type back to him, another message comes in.

_Actually? Fuck it. I'm on my way. _

By the time he gets there, Lucy has pulled herself out of bed, having ripped all the sheets off and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Three new lines of deep red scarlet have been added to her thigh and she's pressing down to add a fourth as the doorbell rings. She hears two deep voices—one gruff and irritated, one pleading and desperate. Moments later James is there, paused in the doorway and she doesn't notice or recognize the look of mingled terror and helplessness on his face.

"Lucy…"

James kneels down next to her, pulling her shiny new blade away from her and glancing around at the scene before him—the booze and drugs in plain sight, the cuts on her legs starting to clot. He tends to her wounds just as he did the night her grandmother died and she sits there silent and unresponsive as ever.

"I don't get you, Luce," he sighs, more to himself than to her. If she hears him, she shows no signs of it. "I don't know how to help you. Just tell me what you need. Please."

Lucy turns her head and blinks at him, an eerily serene expression on her face. "You don't get to _get _me, James," she says. "You can't just understand someone like they're a puzzle you can solve. People are more complex than that. Sooner you realize that, the happier you'll be."

* * *

><p>By the time Friday night rolls around, Kendall is ready for the break to be over. He'd enjoyed seeing his dad, and even the new family weren't so bad, but it just… wasn't home. So as he drags a comb through his hair, trying to look presentable for Melissa's birthday party, he thinks about how glad he'll be to get back to Minnesota and see his mom and Jo and everyone else.<p>

Melissa was definitely a handful, he had to say. He'd heard her coming home late into the night with her friend two more times throughout the week, but he'd never gone to check on them again like he did the first time. He wondered if they were being louder than necessary on purpose to try to get him to go in there. He wanted to write her behavior off as harmless fun, because Lord knew he'd been in much worse shape than Melissa, but he somehow couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he should say something.

At any rate, his time here is almost up, and then he goes back to his real life. School. Family. Therapy. Repeat.

At the party, Kendall finds himself standing alone near the food tables, watching as Melissa and a group of her friends dance to the beat of the loud song blaring through the speakers of the venue. His dad and her mom don't seem to think anything is amiss, though if Kendall's guess is correct, his stepsister and her friends keep disappearing into the ladies' room to take swigs from flasks they've surely snuck into the party.

He blinks and looks away when a few of the girls look over at him and start giggling, and he chugs down the cup of punch he's holding onto just to have something to do, refilling it immediately and pretending he doesn't see that Melissa is trying to wave him over. The girl isn't easily deterred, whether made braver from the alcohol or just because she's the fearless type, so she comes over to Kendall and grabs his wrist, pulling him out onto the dance floor.

It's awkward at first, since he doesn't know anyone, and the girls all keep staring at him and trying to catch his attention. But he begins to relax and tries to just have fun, for Melissa's sake. It's her birthday after all, and he thinks nothing of it when she hands him another cup of punch.

It isn't until he starts getting dizzy that he realizes it's been spiked. And now it's too late to do anything about it. Melissa's friend Taylor has her arms around his neck (when did that happen?) and she's much too close to him. Then she kisses him and he's too shocked to kiss back. She lets go of him with a satisfied smile and steps back, unaware of the panic welling up inside Kendall. Head spinning and feeling the familiar numbness in the tips of his fingers and the buzz in his head, he stumbles away from the kids surrounding him, trying to think rationally in his inebriated state.

_Breathe, Knight, _he tells himself. He makes his way to an exit, thinking to go outside and get some air, but the cool breeze only succeeds in making him feel more lightheaded than he already does. Nauseated both from the inadvertent drinking and also scared of the fact that this technically counts as a relapse, Kendall puts his hands on his knees and vomits into a patch of flowers outside the door just as Kathryn comes outside to check on him.

He turns quickly when he hears her gasp.

"Wait," he says, but she's already wheeled around and gone back inside. He leans against the building, trying to make the world steady itself.

* * *

><p><strong>I think we'll leave it there! Okay. SO once again NECESSARRY CAPSLOCK BECAUSE I'M REALLY SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE. But thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed and everyone who is back to read this chapter! I PROMISE this story will be finished soon. I'm planning on an even 20 chapters, give or take one or two. This monster is nearly complete. Please please please let me know what you think! <strong>


	17. Show Goes On

Chapter 17: Show Goes On

* * *

><p>A few minutes later Mr. Knight marches outside and grabs Kendall by the elbow, dragging him down the path toward the car and dumping him unceremoniously inside before striding around to the driver's side and starting the engine.<p>

"Dad…"

"Don't, Kendall," Mr. Knight says, not turning toward him.

They ride the rest of the way in silence, Kendall practically feeling the waves of anger emanating from his dad. Kathryn arrives home soon after them with Melissa in tow, obviously wasted. Kathryn sends the girl to her room with a bottle of water and then rounds on Kendall, looking livid.

"Just _what _on earth were you thinking?" She hisses at him, shaking a finger in his face.

"What was I… what?" Kendall frowns and shakes his head, not fully understanding.

"I knew you had a problem, but we allowed you into our home, to be near our children because your father assured me that you were getting things under control!"

"They are under control," he argues. "I don't know how— I didn't—"

It dawns on him that either Melissa or some of her friends must have tampered with the drinks at the party, and he feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. _My mom doesn't know what she's in for; _Melissa had said that to him on his first day there... A small surge of anger courses through him. Things could have gotten way worse if he'd kept drinking. He remembers the last time he had a drink, when he woke up in the woods, covered in dirt and leaves and had to walk home and face his mom. He never wanted to see that look on her face again.

"It wasn't my fault," Kendall says slowly and clearly, looking at Kathryn and his father. It sounds stupid, even to him. Why should they believe him? He's an addict. A liar. Still, he presses on. "The kids, they must have-I didn't even know—"

"Don't you _dare _try to blame this on Melissa! What is the matter with you?"

"Calm down, Kath," Mr. Knight says, trying to soothe her and guide her away from Kendall's personal space. "Look, son—"

"You don't believe me, do you?" Kendall asks his dad. "You think I did this on purpose."

"Kendall, I know it's hard when you're trying to get the help you need, and coming out here and disrupting your routine and your treatment probably—"

"No. You know what's hard? Hard is having to listen to Mom crying at night when she thought I was asleep. It's trying to answer Katie's questions about if she did anything to make you leave. It's watching all my old friends get ready to go to college while I just pray to God that I'll eventually be able to transfer out of community. You don't know a single thing about me anymore, so don't sit there and act like I'm some problem kid you have to deal with, especially since at the end of the week, you get to ship me back home and go back to your real life—the one you made sure I'm not a part of. You can act like this was all just some experiment that didn't work. But you know what's hard? Hard is being so much of a fuck-up that I can look you in the eye and promise you I didn't do this on purpose, and you still don't believe me. But I guess I only have myself to blame for that, too."

Kendall stands and stalks out of the room, not registering the stunned looks on Mr. and Mrs. Knight's faces. When he rounds the corner to climb the stairs, he stops short, seeing Melissa sitting down on the first step, having eavesdropped on the conversation.

"Kendall…" Melissa starts. He ignores his stepsister and shoves past her, making his way up to his room so he can call Jo.

"Not now, Melissa," he mutters, attempting to shut the door behind him.

She follows him inside, clutching the bottle of water her mother had given her and looking decidedly more sober than she did when they first arrived home. "What's going on? What was that about?"

"Someone," he says pointedly, "thought it'd be hilarious to spike the punch at your party. Which I normally wouldn't give a damn about, except for the tiny fact that I'm currently in rehab for alcoholism."

"You… you're what? But you're only seventeen!"

"I'm aware," Kendall replies sardonically. "Look, after my dad left us, I let my life get really fucked up, okay? And I'm just now starting to put the pieces back together, and I don't need shit like this setting me back and ruining everything I've been working on."

Melissa backs out of his room slowly, biting her lip. She hadn't meant to get him in so much trouble. She had no idea it would get this out of hand. She could still hear her mother and Mark talking heatedly downstairs, Kathryn's shrill voice drowning out everything Mark was trying to say. Her mom was still bent on blaming Kendall for the ruined party, unwilling to believe that her perfect daughter could have had anything to do with it, let alone be the mastermind behind it all.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Kathryn was always doing this—trying to make Melissa out to be this prim and proper, perfect little girl. It was exhausting having to live up to that all the time. _That _was why she decided to mess with the party plans in the first place. Because at _her _sixteenth birthday, she wanted to have fun. But now her little burst of rebellion might have gotten Kendall into serious trouble… and it may have cost him his relationship with his dad.

At breakfast, Kathryn and Mark are both aggressively silent. Melissa pushes food around her plate, trying to decide whether she should break the tension. Kendall still hasn't come downstairs at all, but she's not even sure whether it's possible for things to get any more awkward than they are now.

"How are you feeling, Melissa?" Kathryn finally asks. "Do you have a headache or anything? You might need to go back to bed and rest for awhile. There's no telling what _he _got a hold of and slipped into the drinks."

"Kathryn," Mark says warningly.

"What, Mark?" She hisses. "I know he's your son, but you have to face the reality. He has a problem. And it's wonderful that he's trying to get help—though it's apparently not doing much good—but you have to admit that I was right."

"Right about what?" Melissa questions, her stomach churning.

"About it being too soon for Kendall to come and visit us, sweetie. It's hardly fair to expect him to uproot his routine, if that's what's helping him get better, and besides all that, to have him here around you and the baby? I mean, just look at what happened to your party. I don't know _what _I'm going to tell people."

_The truth comes out, _Melissa thinks. Kathryn never wanted Kendall to come stay at all. She wasn't concerned about his well-being; she was concerned about whether he might embarrass her in some way while he was here. _Someone's in for a rude awakening. _

"Shut up, Mom."

"Excuse me?"

"Just shut up about Kendall. Lay off him."

"Young lady, I don't know what on earth has gotten into you but you will _not _speak to me like that!"

"Kendall didn't do anything wrong!" Melissa says, speaking over her mother, a dull glimmer of satisfaction settling into her chest when Kathryn is stunned into silence. "I'm the one who got him drunk. He didn't even know there was going to be any alcohol."

"Melissa! What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I planned it, Mom! It was all my fault and Kendall had nothing to do with it! I obviously wouldn't have done it if I had known about him."

Kendall stops short, just outside the kitchen, listening to Melissa confess about the previous night. He slowly and silently backs away from the door, unseen by the rest of the family, as Kathryn explodes into a high-pitched shrieking tirade at her teenage daughter. It's too screechy for him to make out most of it, but he thinks he hears '_this is not how I raised you!' _and '_I have never been more disappointed in my life!' _Kendall almost feels sorry for her, having been on the receiving end of a few shouting matches in his day, but the sympathy washes away almost as soon as it bubbles up, because he remembers that it _is _in fact her fault.

He spends the rest of the day packing up his belongings and awkwardly avoiding eye contact with Kathryn, who seems to begrudgingly accept his presence while steadfastly refusing to apologize for accusing him of something he didn't do. Mark Knight says nothing either, and if not for the fact that his dad and step-mom didn't know he was listening outside the door when they found out the truth, he would have confronted them by now. Part of him wanted to believe his father was just waiting for the right moment and thinking of the right way to go about it. But another part, the nagging part that always voiced his fears and insecurities, even when he was trying to deny them, told him that Mark Knight wasn't going to try to fix things. That he was going to let Kendall leave believing his father thought the worst of him, so that he could justify cutting his son out of his life again. And it was that thought, above all others, that hurt the most.

The next morning, Kendall groggily turns off the alarm on his phone and wills himself out of his warm bed. He'd already checked and double-checked his suitcase, so all he had to do this morning was brush his teeth and throw on his jeans. Getting to the airport and back to Minnesota couldn't come soon enough.

"Goodbye, Kendall," Kathryn said stiffly when it came time for his dad to drive him. "I hope you'll come visit us again." She gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder, looking very much as though she hoped he would never take her up on this offer.

_Don't worry, _he thinks. _I don't plan on it. _

"Later, bro," Melissa winks at him and gives him a quick hug, surreptitiously shoving a note into his pocket and adding a meaningful look.

Mark Knight tries to make small talk in the car, which Kendall ignores.

"Look, son," he finally tries as the airport comes into view. "I know that this trip didn't end on the best note, but I hope we can still find a way to move past all of this and try again."

"Are you serious?" Kendall asks incredulously.

"Of course I am," Mr. Knight replies, not realizing that Kendall's tone of surprise is stemming from anger rather than gratitude. "You're still my son, Kendall."

"Where was that attitude for the last two years of my life?" Kendall mutters, not troubling to keep his voice low.

"I suppose I deserve that," Mark says with a slight huff. "I'm sorry Kathryn and I were so hard on you after the incident with Melissa's party, but you have to know that she's very particular about these things and she's very protective of Melissa—"

"Yeah, I get it, Dad. She had to make sure the screw-up stayed clear of her precious daughter. Wouldn't want me rubbing off on her, would we? But aren't you forgetting something?" The uncomfortable look on Mark's face is telling enough. "I know Melissa told you the truth. But you'd both rather sweep that under the rug than deal with it, and in the meantime let me believe that _I _did something wrong, that _I'm _somehow to blame for it? I'm not. And I'm not going to let you make me feel guilty for being the one to walk out on you this time."

The car rolls to a stop in the drop-off area outside the terminal. "Kendall—you have to understand—"

"No, _you _have to understand! I've been killing myself for the last two years, wondering what I did, what was the last straw that made you leave us! I've relived every single fucking mistake I've ever made, and while I did that, I made a hell of a lot more trying to numb it out and forget about how much I hated myself. I blamed you for so long before I accepted that I was the one screwing my life up, not you, you know? But I'm past that now. I'm responsible for my own decisions, so here's what I decide: I'm done. I will not try to be in someone's life who doesn't support me."

"Don't do this, Kendall. Think about what you're saying."

"I've thought about it," Kendall snorts. "I had an entire day waiting around for you to apologize to me to think about it. Thanks for the trip, Dad. I didn't know if this was going to work out when I agreed to come. I thought things could be different now. At least now I know."

He hauls the suitcase out of the back of the car and turns his back, walking with his head held high all the way to the door, though he's angry with himself for hoping that Mark will make some attempt to call him back or come after him. Against his better judgment, Kendall looks back one last time, only to find the car pulling out of the spot and driving away.

Anger fuels Kendall all the way through the terminal and the security line, making it to his gate and taking a seat as he waits for his flight to board. The weight of everything that's happened during the week rushes over him and before he can stop them, hot tears fill his eyes and spill out over his face. Kendall ducks his head and presses his hands over his eyes, trying to stem the flow and calm down, as he can feel strangers' eyes on him while he suppresses sniffles.

A small tap on his knee causes him to look up. A little girl with straight hair and big brown eyes stands before him. She can't be more than six or seven years old, and Kendall looks around, wondering if any parents or siblings are missing her.

"Are you alright, Mister?"

Kendall sniffs again and clears his throat. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."

The little girl shoves her hand into the pocket of the coat she's wearing, and when it emerges, it clutches a small fistful of napkins. "Here."

"Thanks," Kendall laughs, accepting her offer and wiping his eyes. "Are you lost or something?"

She nods. "I turned around just for a second! And then I couldn't see my mommy anymore."

"I'll help you find her, if you want."

"'Kay." The girl holds out her hand and waits expectantly.

Kendall grins and takes it, scanning the area for a security guard or someone official-looking to help them. Seeing none, Kendall walks a few yards, the little girl holding tightly to his hand the whole time. They stop at a vending machine and Kendall buys her a package of animal crackers, which she shares with him as they search the crowded airport for someone to help them. Finally, he spots a security person and leads her towards the man.

"Excuse me—" Kendall barely begins speaking when the sound of a woman shrieking interrupts him.

"_Katie? Katie!" _

Both Kendall and the little girl look around to find a hysterical-looking woman running towards them.

"Mommy!"

"Katie! What happened to you? Are you alright?" She pulls the little girl into a tight hug and exhales loudly in relief. "I was so worried about you."

"I'm okay. He was helping me find you." Katie points at Kendall, who feels his face growing warm.

"It's not a big deal—"

But the woman stands and gives Kendall a hug too, and he's surprised to realize how nice it is just to be held. He never really noticed how much he craved physical contact until he went an entire week without it.

"Thank you, so much, for taking care of her," the woman says.

"No—no problem," Kendall chokes, his eyes watering up again.

Katie waves at him while her mother leads her away, and Kendall waves back, just as he hears his flight number being called for boarding.

When he's seated (next to a window, thankfully, and he even has an empty seat next to him), he remembers the note from Melissa. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the now-crumpled piece of paper, smiling down at it in surprise.

_Kendall-_

_I'm really sorry about everything. Hope you can forgive me. Keep in touch, yeah? Here's my Skype and my cell number. Let's talk sometime. _

_xoxo,_

_Melissa_

* * *

><p>"Jo? Something came for you in the mail yesterday." Mr. Taylor hands his daughter an envelope, his eyebrows knit together in curiosity. "Look where it's from."<p>

With a shaky hand, Jo reaches for it and stares down. "You don't think…?"

"Open it," he encourages.

Jo rips open the sealed part of the envelope and scans the page before her, reading and re-reading just to be sure.

"I don't believe it," she whispers before handing back to her father so that he can read it too. She sits down on her bed, suddenly dizzy. "I don't believe it."

* * *

><p>"Oh my God, Jo. You have to tell him!" Camille exclaims as she slams her locker shut.<p>

Jo shakes her head, distressed. "I can't. I haven't even decided yet! I need more time. Camille, you can't tell anyone either! I mean it! Not even Logan."

"This is not a good idea."

"You're an actress, aren't you?" Jo demands. "Just _act _like everything's fine while I try to wrap my head around this."

The warning bell rings shrilly above them, and Logan rounds the corner on cue to walk Camille class. "Morning," he says, pecking Camille on the temple quickly and tugging her books out of her arms in order to carry them for her. "Hey, Jo."

"Hey, Logan," Jo replies, looking remarkably like nothing's wrong. "See you guys at lunch."

Camille frowns slightly as Jo heads toward her own class, but then wipes her face free of any sign of trouble, acting like Jo said as if everything is fine.

"I called you last night," Logan says casually as they walk toward Camille's classroom.

"I know, I'm sorry." Camille throws him an apologetic smile. "I passed out kind of early last night. Spent all day doing the homework I neglected all break."

She feels a pang of guilt in her chest because of how incredibly easy she finds it to lie to him, but the truth was, she spent all night staring from her scale to her goal sheets and trying to decide whether to tell him she was officially no longer classified as "underweight." Anxiety medication and panic attacks were also involved. As was jumping out of her skin every time her phone beeped.

"No big deal. Have a good morning. See you at lunch."

Logan flashes her that grin that melts her heart every time, and she knows that while she may be able to keep Jo's secret from him, she can't keep her own.

"Yeah. See you."

She almost blurts it out right then, but Logan's already turning to head off towards his lab, and anyway, she doesn't think it would be a good idea to spring it on him now. Instead, she ducks inside her classroom, her stomach in knots. The familiar feeling of heaviness settles over her and as she sits down and takes out a notebook she reminds herself in her head over and over again that the heaviness is just in her head. _It isn't real. _You _aren't real. _Camille closes her eyes for a second and reaches into the pocket of her sweater for the small pill she stowed in there before she left for school. Usually she refrains from taking her medication at school because of how they make her feel, but the foggy numbness is better than the weight of the stress and guilt she currently feels. She pops the pill without anyone noticing just as the late bell rings and her teacher arrives to begin the morning lesson.

* * *

><p>By lunchtime, Camille's head is starting to clear. She smiles at Logan as he approaches to walk with her to the cafeteria.<p>

"Hey."

"Hi. How's your day going?" He asks.

"Not too bad. Look, before we go to lunch, can we talk for a second? I have something I want to show you."

"Okay," Logan replies slowly. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Camille says decidedly. She digs into her bag for a moment, searching for the sheet of paper she had stowed in there before she left for school that morning, and finally pulls it out. "Here. Look."

"What's this? Your weight log?" Logan's eyebrows knit together in concentration as his eyes scan the page, wondering what it is he's supposed to be looking for. "Camille. You-?"

"Yeah," she nods.

"You met your goal!"

"I did." She wishes she were as excited about it as Logan is, but she can't seem to muster up the same level of enthusiasm.

"But this is awesome! Did you tell your dad? Have you seen your doctor?"

"Not yet. You're the first person to know," Camille tells him.

"Well I'm really proud of you."

"You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"It means… it means they can consider releasing me from the Palm Woods," Camille says. "I mean I know I'm not, like, a hundred percent better all of a sudden, but this—this is real progress. And I don't… I mean… you how I get sometimes. Things are still really hard, you know? Every meal is still a struggle. When I first saw that I was at the goal weight… it wasn't good. It still—I know how this sounds, okay? It still depressed me to see the number that high. But my doctor told me she thought I was headed for a breakthrough… I think this is it. I think it's a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That I can move on. Logan, I can actually do this. I can have a life again. Maybe."

Logan slings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close as they start walking to meet everyone for lunch. "I always knew you could, goofball. I was just waiting for you to figure it out too."

When they arrive at the table, Camille watches Jo closely but the blond girl shows no signs of wanting to share any news. Camille glances at Kendall and feels sorry for him as he eats his lunch, blissfully unaware of the letter Jo's keeping a secret for now. She doesn't feel ready to share her own news with the group, but it's just as well because after a few minutes, Carlos clears his throat and then grins embarrassedly.

"So, um, you guys remember that art contest my teacher entered me in?" Everyone nods yes, not thinking too much of it. "Well it turns out it was like, a city-wide thing. They're supposed to pick the top 25 entries to display at the art museum, and the top 3 winners get some sort of prize."

"That's cool," Kendall says through a mouthful of sandwich. "When do you find out?"

"I already did. I'm in."

"Nice!"

"Yeah. So, the showing is on Wednesday night, and they'll announce the top three then. So, um… you're all invited to come, if you want."

"Of course we'll be there," Camille says. "Right, guys?"

"Definitely," Kendall agrees.

* * *

><p>After school in the park, Carlos looks up when Wayne and Andy approach.<p>

"Sup, man? You've been kind of MIA from the scene lately," Wayne says.

"Been busy," Carlos shrugs.

"Yeah, been busy hanging out with your Palm Woods crew, right? Busy getting back on the straight-and-narrow like mommy and daddy wanted, isn't that right?"

"Shut up. It's not like you've been around much either."

"Maybe not, but at least I still know who my real friends are," Wayne needles him, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up.

"What, I'm not allowed to have any friends besides you two?"

"Didn't say that." Wayne blows out a breath of smoke, watching as the cloud rises and then dissipates into the air. "Just saying that all those kids you're hanging out with, they're all gonna leave. Every one of them, except maybe Lucy. They're gonna go to college, Carlos. They're gonna make something of their lives and this year will be nothing but a bad memory when they look back on it. They're gonna grow up and be doctors, lawyers, pro-hockey players. And you'll still be here in this shit-hole town. If you're lucky, you might still have us to party with."

Carlos tries to ignore his friend's words. "Ms. Tinsley entered me in an art show," he says. "Wednesday night at the museum. You can come if you want. I might win a prize."

Wayne smirks. "Yeah. Maybe we will."

* * *

><p>"No matter what happens, I'm so proud of you, <em>mijo.<em>" Mrs. Garcia plants a big kiss on Carlos' forehead and adjusts his tie nervously as they stand in the foyer of the museum.

"Thanks, mom," Carlos mumbles back, fidgeting as his mother continues to mess with his tie and brush lint off his jacket.

He feels uncomfortable and nervous and hot and his jacket is itchy and he's starting to wish none of this had ever happened. His parents are going to get their hopes up and be crushed when he inevitably loses, and it'll just be Another Disappointment to add to the list. Even if he wins, then what? It's not like he's going to go to college, or art school or whatever. Wayne was right. He's going to be stuck in this shit-hole town for the rest of his life while everyone moves on.

His friends haven't shown up yet, not even Lucy, but he's not sure whether that's such a bad thing. Maybe it was stupid inviting them all here just to watch him lose.

Logan and Camille show up first, with Lucy and the others not far behind.

Lucy squeezes his hand, saying nothing, and he squeezes it back, ignoring the looks from his parents, who have yet to be officially introduced to his girlfriend. She looks really pretty, he thinks, with her hair pulled away from her face and a light green sweater worn over a black dress and her usual fishnets. The sweater, he knows, is for his parents' benefit. Lucy doesn't care, usually, what people think of the scars on her arms, but that didn't mean she needed to advertise them.

"Carlos, this is really good," Camille says, peering at the sketch pinned to a canvas behind him. "This is the view of the creek and the woods from the top of the slide, isn't it?"

"Oh—thanks. Yeah. You can tell?"

"Totally," Logan adds, staring at the picture too. "You nailed it exactly. Even the way the grass is worn down right there where kids are always sitting. You could totally win something for this."

"Nah," Carlos tries not to let his face redden. "There's a ton of really good stuff out here. Kids who study art and take classes, you know? I won't win. But it was cool of Ms. Tinsley to enter me anyway."

"Don't sell yourself short," Kendall tells him. "You never know what could happen."

* * *

><p>"That was bullshit," James declares when he's sure Mr. and Mrs. Garcia are out of earshot. "Your sketches were way better than that stupid painting. It was just a bunch of blotches! What's up with that? Any eight year old could've done that."<p>

"It's called abstract art, James," Logan says while refraining from rolling his eyes.

"Honorable mention is still really good," Camille chimes in. "But James is right, you were robbed. It's such crap that the top three kids all came from that one private school. No one else ever had a chance."

Carlos shrugs. "No big deal." He's trying valiantly to hide his disappointment. He'd known it would be a long shot going in to it… so why was it bugging him so much when he knew he never stood a chance? "But thanks for coming, guys."

"Sure. See you tomorrow, Carlos."

"Later."

"Bye."

When Lucy is the only one left standing with him, she turns to him and speaks. "Why did you pick that drawing to enter?"

"I dunno. I liked it. I spend a lot of time in that park."

"You know you could've won if you'd picked another one."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about. The sketches of us. The ones I saw after I spent the night."

Lucy can practically see the dark cloud settling behind her boyfriend's eyes. Carlos shakes his head. "Those aren't… those are personal."

"You let me see them."

"Of course I did. But those ones… they're not for other people to judge."

"Why not? They're so good, Carlos."

"Because, they're us!" Carlos can't keep the edge out of his voice. "They're us, Lucy. They're memories and moments attached to stories that only we know. I don't need anyone to judge my memories, alright? Giving up those sketches to be judged would be like handing over a diary and having someone edit it for content, you know? It's too close to home. I can't put that much of myself into something and have someone talk to me about shading techniques or whatever. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Lucy nods.

* * *

><p>When Kendall walks Jo home after school on Thursday, he can tell that something's on her mind.<p>

"I need to tell you something," she says, as if hearing his thoughts.

"Okay…" Kendall replies slowly, growing apprehensive at the look of distress on his girlfriend's face.

Jo pulls out an envelope from her bag but doesn't give it to him yet. "Last semester, before… well before Jett… happened, I um, I applied early-action to some schools. I still—I love the idea of staying here and taking classes with you next year, and this doesn't change anything, I just thought you should know."

"Yeah." Kendall swallows thickly, nodding along and hating himself for the lack of emotion is giving her right now. How could she not have told him until now that she was weighing other options for school next year?

Jo hands him the envelope and Kendall's eyes widen when he looks at the return address.

"Princeton? You applied to Princeton and didn't say anything? You got in?"

"I'm sorry! I know I should have told you, but I honestly didn't think it would matter, it was such a long shot to get in, and my grades tanked at the beginning of the quarter after everything that happened, so I thought there was no way I'd ever get in and it wouldn't matter if I never said anything to anyone."

Kendall remains silent, unsure of what to say. He knows he should be proud of her, should congratulate her and be happy for her…

"Nothing's been decided yet," she says gently. "I mean, I still have a few weeks to decide."

"But you want to go there, don't you?"

"I did before. I mean, my parents went there and everything, and it just always seemed like something that I would do too. But things change."

"What things? Princeton is like… one of the best schools there is. Of course you'd want to go there."

"Kendall, _everything _has changed since I applied! I'm not the same person I was six months ago. I have other things to think about now. Stop acting like everything is already finalized."

"Other things like what?" Kendall snorts.

"Like you! Kendall, I wouldn't have made through these past few months without you. You think I'm going to just suddenly throw it all away? It's a good school, but it's not the only school."

Kendall shakes his head, unable to deal with the conversation any longer. "Okay. Whatever. Let's talk about it later, okay? I have to go."

"Kendall."

"Congratulations, Jo. I mean it. I'll see you tomorrow."

Kendall stands and kisses Jo on the forehead before leaving her house, the cool afternoon air sending shivers down his skin.

The entire way home he can't help but think, _this is it. _It's over, isn't it? He doesn't want her go, but how can he stop her? An opportunity like Princeton University doesn't come along every day.

He decides right then and there that he'll support her no matter what she decides… even if it kills him to do it.

* * *

><p><strong>A tad shorter than usual but hopefully still somewhat satisfactory! I'm back! Hiatus over. Plan to be done with this story by the end of March! Thanks for sticking with me! And you know... maybe leave a comment or something. ;) <strong>


	18. Out of This Town

**This chapter is heavy on James/Lucy/Carlos; just a heads up. We won't be seeing too much of the other characters in this one. Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

><p>Chapter 18: Out of This Town<p>

_Gone by morning light  
>Somewhere we won't ever get caught, ever be found<br>Baby let's just get out of this town_

_If we leave tonight and drive fast enough, all our troubles will be just like us:  
>Long gone, baby<em>

* * *

><p>When Kendall leaves her house, Jo immediately wants to go after him, to make him understand that this acceptance letter doesn't mean anything. But she knows he needs his space right now; he's probably going to stew over it the whole way home. So what if she got in? It doesn't mean she has to go there.<p>

_It's only what you've wanted since you were in middle school, _says a voice in the back of her head. _But sure, go ahead and give up everything you've worked for. _

Jo shakes her head at herself. Things change. People change. Six months ago the discussion would have been whether or not they could keep their relationship going long-distance. But now… after everything that's happened, everything they've been through… she's not ready to just walk away from the people that have kept her afloat.

She's halfway through dialing Camille's number when she remembers that she's having dinner with Logan's family. Not wanting to interrupt, but needing to talk to someone else about it, she calls James.

"_Hello?" _He picks up on the second ring.

"James. Are you busy?"

"_Not really. What's up?" _

"Can we… do you want to go grab dinner or something?"

"_Yeah, sure. Are you alright?" _

"I'm fine." She pauses. "I just.. I need to get out of the house for a little bit. Meet me at the diner?"

"_Okay. I'm on my way. See you soon." _

"Thanks, James. Bye."

By the time she gets there, James is already sitting alone in a booth in the corner, sipping a milkshake. "Hey," he greets her as she slides into the seat across from him.

"Thanks for meeting me," she replies. "I don't mean to drag you into the middle of this, but…"

"Into the middle of what?"

"Kendall and I had a fight," she sighs. "Well… I guess it wasn't really a fight. But it's something that I know is going to cause problems even though I told him not to get upset—"

"Wait. Start from the beginning. What happened?"

Jo pulls out the envelope she had showed Kendall and gives it to James, who blinks down at it. "Read it."

"Holy shit," James swears loudly and a woman with a young son sitting in the booth behind him clears her throat menacingly. "Sorry. But—" he lowers his voice. "_Holy shit. _You got into Princeton? I didn't even know you applied!"

"I didn't expect to get in," she replies. "I wasn't going to say anything because Kendall and I were planning to take classes next year and switch to UMin later… and then I got this."

"Kendall's mad at you?"

"I think he's more upset that I never told him about it. But.. I mean, this doesn't change anything, right? This doesn't change how I feel about Kendall and planning our future."

"Doesn't it?" James asks dubiously.

"It shouldn't," Jo says, stubborn. "Kendall knows I love him. I don't want to give up on us just because of this."

"Look I get that you love him, but, Jo…" James stops, not sure if he should press on. It's their relationship, not his. "I'm not trying to change your mind… but… I don't think Kendall would want you to pass up an opportunity like this without seriously thinking about it."

"I have thought about it! I can't leave him, James."

"Jo… you can't just stay with him because you need a crutch. That's not healthy or fair for either of you."

"He's not my _crutch._"

"I know, I know." James raises his hand up in surrender. "All I'm saying is, you guys should really talk this out. Don't make any decisions—whether it's to stay or not—without him."

"What would you do?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"You know what I mean. If it were you and Lucy, would you go?"

"What does she have to do with anything?" He looks away from Jo's gaze, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Please. I see the way you look at them. It kills you, doesn't it? That they're together."

"They're my best friends."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I have," James shrugs. "What do you want me to say? I want to be happy for them, more than anything else in the world. I just… I knew it was going to be hard. But not like this."

Jo reaches across the table and covers James' hand with her own. "Just because you love them doesn't mean you have to ignore your own feelings. You deserve to be happy, too."

"I know, but not at their expense! Lucy's just… I feel like I'm losing her and I don't know how to get her back."

"James… have you told her how you feel?"

"I have. It doesn't change anything. But… Ever since her grandmother died she's been even worse than she was before. She's gonna get out of control pretty soon and I don't think any of us is gonna be able to pull her back out."

"You can't save people," Jo says softly. "You just have to be there for them."

"It should make a difference when someone loves you, though. Shouldn't it?"

* * *

><p>Jo sits cross-legged on her bed, reading her acceptance letter from Princeton again as she waits for Camille to return from her weigh-in.<p>

_Dear Ms. Taylor, _

_The Board of Admissions here at Princeton University is pleased to offer you placement in the graduating Class of 2016…_

As she scans the page, all she can see are the contrasted looks of excitement and of hurt shock she'd received when telling the news to her father and to Kendall. It had been her parents' dream for her to attend their alma mater, and truthfully, until this year she had never once doubted that it was what she wanted.

But then Jett happened, and her world was turned upside down as she figured she would have to let that dream die, because there was no way she could keep it together enough to actually get into any school, let alone her top choice.

Besides, Kendall had happened too. And James, Camille, Logan, Lucy, and Carlos. Her world might have been turned upside down, but those guys were her new world. How could she possibly leave them? She couldn't.

Could she?

Camille walked into their room as she pondered this, wondering what her life would be like in six months if she decided to pack up and go, to leave everything behind and just start all over.

Her roommate's face carried a look of pleasant surprise as she sat down on her bed, leafing through the stack of paper in her hand.

"What's that?" Jo asked.

Camille handed them over wordlessly.

"Camille!" Jo screeched, launching herself off the bed and crossing the room in a blur. She wrapped her friend in a tight hug. "This is so great! I can't believe this!"

"I can't either," Camille finally manages.

"I'm so happy for you! Let's go find everyone and tell them!"

Camille shakes her head. "I'll tell them in group later. I need to process this. It's so… bizarre."

"It's not," Jo protests. "You've been doing really well. This is going to be great for you. I mean, I'm gonna miss you being my weekend roommate and everything, but whatever, I'll get over it."

"Thanks," Camille grins. "Now I know how James felt when they told him he didn't have to come anymore."

"Yeah. But you'll still have to come check in sometimes, right?"

"Once a week to talk to my doctor, and one of those visits every month will be a weigh-in to make sure I'm maintaining."

"I'm so excited for you. Aren't you excited?"

"I am, I guess. It's just so weird, you know? I almost can't believe they trust me enough to let me go."

Jo rolls her eyes. "It's not like they're releasing you back into the wild, Camille. You still have us and your dad to help you. Only now you won't have to be stuck here every weekend. You can do things again. You can rejoin drama club!"

Camille does brighten at this. "You're right… I can. It's too late to audition for a part, but I'm sure they need help with costuming or props or something."

Jo's watch beeped and she looked down at the time. "Oh, hell. Time for my one-on-one. Maybe she'll be able to tell me what do to about this whole Princeton thing."

"You did tell Kendall, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Jo nods. "I don't think he's taking it well."

"He's going to support you no matter what. You know that."

"I know. It's not that I'm afraid of hurting him if I leave, though. He's strong. I just don't know if _I'm _strong enough."

By the time group rolls around, Jo is the last one to arrive and she has same shell-shocked happy look on her face that she saw on Camille earlier. She takes her seat in the circle next to Kendall and reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently as the group facilitator has them go through this week's activity.

When they're all left alone, Camille makes her announcement.

"So… I'm being released this weekend," she tells them. "I got my goal weight last week. My doctors think it's time to let me go."

"Nice!" Kendall lifts his hand and Camille high-fives it sheepishly.

Jo clears her throat. "Not to steal your thunder or anything," she says as everyone shifts their attention to her. "But um, my therapist is recommending me for release too."

"Our group's practically gonna be empty!" Carlos exclaims. "I mean, I'm really happy for you guys," he adds when Lucy kicks him.

"Is it weird that I kind of feel like we're saying good bye?" Camille asks.

"Nah," Jo shakes her head. "But roommate or not, you're still my best friend."

"Same here. Though I do feel bad we're leaving Lucy to deal with these guys alone," Camille says, grinning at Lucy.

"Please," scoffs the girl. "They're nothing I can't handle."

* * *

><p>James tries to quickly finish up his dinner while his mom takes a conference call. She'd been badgering him recently about making a final decision on where he was going to attend school next year, and the truth was, he'd actually already decided to stay close to home and go to the University of Minnesota, which his mother would love. But the thing his mother wouldn't love was the fact that he wanted to major in acting, not in business.<p>

She knew performing was a hobby of his, but she never quite grasped how seriously he took it. This wasn't a passing phase for James; this was something he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Only he was having a hard time growing the balls to tell Brooke that he didn't want to run her makeup company when she retired.

He's still shoveling food into his mouth when she returns to the table with a sour look on her face.

"Everything okay?" He asks, swallowing thickly.

"Some intern flubbed an order on business cards and ordered about fifty-thousand more than we wanted, which is going to cost a fortune," Brooke sighs, taking a drink from her glass of wine. "I'll be so glad when you start interning. At least then I'll have someone competent in the office."

"Mmm…" James puts more food in his mouth to avoid giving an answer, instead doing his best not to roll his eyes as his mother rants about the idiots who work for her and how she can't wait for James to start working with her so she can show him all the ins and outs of the business.

As it is, James already knows more about makeup and hair care than any self-respecting teenage boy should.

"Anyway," Brooke continues, "I was thinking that after graduation, you could start coming into the office maybe three times a week or so, just to get a feel of what we do and how things run, meet some of the other interns, that sort of thing. Start off slow, nothing too major, of course."

"Hmmm…" James mumbles. "Yeah… maybe."

This is the part he'd been dreading. Because there was a community theater group Camille had told him about that was putting on a musical. And sure, he'd never really acted because he'd spent most of his time working on choir and learning to play piano, but he figured if nothing else he could sing in the chorus and see what it was like being on stage. Plus Camille would probably be there too, so it'd be cool to hang out with her in case he didn't know anyone else.

"You're awfully quiet today, James. Is there something on your mind?"

"Um. I've been thinking a lot," James says hesitantly. "About next year and what kind of classes I want to take and what to major in. I, um, I'm pretty sure I want to go ahead and go to UMin—"

"Excellent," Brooke says briskly. "You'll be nearby the office in case I need you for anything. As for class, obviously you'll need to enter the business school and take some basic accounting and marketing classes. But your main focus should be entrepreneurial studies, of course, because you need to learn how to run and manage a business that you also own… James! Are you listening to me?"

James blinks, realizing he must have a dazed expression, because hearing his mom go on and on about his future is starting to make his brain feel numb.

"Yeah, Mom."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think, James David? You need to choose your electives carefully, maybe group them into another area of focus and get a minor as well. It'll be hard to graduate in four years, but that's really not a big deal, so don't be concerned about that."

"Electives?"

"_Yes, _James. Economics, some math classes…"

"But I hate math."

"Well what do you suggest?"

James gulps nervously. "I don't even know if I want to major in business," he mumbles, not looking her in the eye.

"Excuse me?"

"There might be other things I want to do."

"Like what? If you say performing…"

James remains silent.

"We've talked about this, James David! There's no future in singing and acting! And God knows there's no money in it, either."

"Money's not the only thing that matters," James argues.

"Of course you'd say that," Brooke rolls her eyes. "You've never known what it's like to be without it. But I have, and I don't want you to have to go through what I did."

Now he's starting to get angry. "Mom, come on! This is _my _life, not yours. You can't tell me what to do forever! I'm gonna be eighteen soon."

"Let me put it like this, James. When _you _are paying for your own education and lifestyle, you can make our own decisions. And I do mean all of it; college tuition, your car, your living arrangements. Until then, this is a closed discussion. Understood?"

James closes his eyes. _Breathe. One, two, three…_

"Understood," he mutters. "Can I be excused now?"

Brooke nods and dismisses him and James stands quickly, leaving his plate on the table and heads out the door without another glance back.

* * *

><p>The beer on Jack's breath makes her feel nauseated. He grunts every time he pushes into her, his unshaven jaw scratching her face and neck as she lies still beneath him, waiting for it to be over. Luckily the drugs she's on (because really, when isn't she on drugs these days?) make her numb to her surroundings, so she's able to let her mind wander away from the squeaking mattress and the way he's almost choking her, probably leaving bruises on her neck and thighs because it's not like he cares about being gentle with her. Images float through her head at random, hazy and blurry visions of other guys at other random times—parties and backseats of cars and strange bedrooms with strange men, some of them faceless and nameless as she used them to forget.<p>

Jack finishes and pulls out of her, tossing the condom at her trashcan and missing, leaving it on the floor. "Always so fuckin' good," he sighs, buttoning his pants and leering at her, still naked on the bed and not making any attempt to cover herself. "So fuckin' good, you little slut."

She hears the words but they don't register. They mean nothing and he leaves her alone, the front door slamming and the engine of his truck starting up so he can make his way to the bar.

Lucy sits up, the familiar feeling of being utterly _dirty _starting to overwhelm her as it does every time he leaves her. She stands on shaky legs and pulls the sheets from her bed, leaving them on the floor as she goes into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water pours over her, scalding her as she scrubs her skin raw, trying to rid herself of any traces of _him _left on her.

It doesn't work. It never does. He isn't even there but he's still _everywhere, _even in the very steam that swirls around her as she steps out of the tub.

There's a knock on the front door that she only vaguely hears, and she ignores it thinking whoever it is will go away soon enough. However, the knocking persists and then she thinks she must be hallucinating or hearing things because it's James' voice coming from the other side of the door, calling out to her to let him inside. She pauses before going out into the living room to answer it, wearing just her t-shirt and underwear.

"What are you doing here?" is the first thing she says, her eyes wide.

"I just.. needed to get away from my mom for a little bit," James replies. "We kind of got into it about school next year and I decided to leave before I ended up breaking something."

Lucy leads James into her room closes the door. "Mommy dearest knows what's best," she says sarcastically. "You know you have to stand up to her."

"I know," he sighs. "But she basically told me she'd cut me off if I don't do what she says. Cutthroat bitch," he laughs darkly. He looks around the room, noticing the way her sheets lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"You don't get to be the owner and CEO of the most successful company in the Midwest without being a cutthroat bitch," Lucy smirks. "Gotta respect a woman like that."

"How am I supposed to respect her when she thinks everything I want and everything I do is wrong?"

"Then you'd best steer clear of me," she teases him. "Mommy dearest definitely wouldn't approve."

"Mommy dearest can plan my future all she wants. But she doesn't get to pick my friends."

Lucy sits down on the ground in front of her bed, still not wanting to go near it, and James joins her, sitting cross-legged beside her. He glances around her room, taking in the posters of rock bands that cover her walls and the pictures of their group taped to her closet doors. He notices the liquor bottles stashed in the corner and the rolled up joint in her nightstand that she reaches for now and puts to her lips. She lights it up and inhales deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs until she can feel the burn in her chest before blowing it out slowly. She offers it to him and James takes it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it to his own lips.

"How are you doing, Luce?" He asks quietly.

"Fantastic," she answers. "Really fucking awesome."

"I'm serious."

"Leave it alone, James. Don't worry about it."

"I am worried about it, though. I know things are bad, alright? You don't have to shut me out."

"Stop," she whispers. "I can't—I don't want to talk about it."

James tilts her face up and forces her to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere," he tells her. "I can help you, but you have to _let me. _So please just let me."

Lucy holds his gaze for three seconds and the next thing he knows his eyes are falling closed and her lips are crashed against his. His arms wrap around her waist, her shirt riding up and revealing the scars in various states of healing up and down her thighs. Her hands grip his shoulders and her legs wrap around his waist as he guides her onto her back, settling carefully on top of her as their tongues continue to battle, their chests and stomachs and hips pressed flush against each other.

She yanks at his shirt, tugging it off before running her hands down to the button and zipper of his jeans and pushing them past his hips. James slips his hand under the hemline of her t-shirt, his fingers hooking under the waistline of her panties and pulling them down her legs before he settles on top of her again, pushing himself gently inside while kissing her neck as she breathes heavily beneath him.

Lucy's body is on fire as his fingertips brush over her bare skin, and when she comes she whimpers his name. He kisses her again, slowly and deeply, his body going still as his own climax peaks.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up to his body, but when it does, he sits up quickly, pulling up his pants and looking down at Lucy, who's reaching for her underwear and re-adjusting her t-shirt.

"Fuck!" James yelps. "Lucy—we just—oh, shit—"

"James, it's fine," Lucy says slowly, blinking at him lazily.

"It is not fine! You have a boyfriend! Who happens to be my best friend! Oh my God, what are we going to tell him?"

"We don't have to tell him anything," Lucy replies, looking wholly unconcerned as James' panic mounts.

"You can't be serious."

"Don't make this bigger than what it was, James," she answers softly. "We just—it was nice. I needed a distraction. So did you. Carlos doesn't need to know. No harm, no foul."

"This changes everything, Lucy."

"No, it doesn't."

"Don't stand there and tell me you don't feel anything for me! I know you do."

"Get out of here," Lucy sighs. "Go home, James."

"No. You are not fucking sending me home after that. Would you just tell me what is going on with you? Can you open up about something for once in your life?"

"I don't know what you want to hear! I've slept with a lot of guys, James. It doesn't have to mean something every time. In fact, most times it usually doesn't. Get it through your head: I'm no good for you. I told you before, didn't I? I'll break your heart, James. And then I'll lose you forever."

Lucy crosses her arms over her chest, her face not betraying the emotions swirling within her. James' panic almost calms her down as he paces the room and sits on the corner of her mattress, still stripped of its sheets.

"That's bullshit, Lucy. I don't buy it. If it were anyone but you and me, I would. But I know you." James doesn't budge as he stares Lucy down, unwilling to go without a fight. "Wait," he pauses. "What's that on your neck? Did I do that?"

Her hand flies up to her throat and she turns to her head to look at her reflection in the mirror. There are faint bruises underneath her fingertips. They still feel tender when she presses on them lightly. "It's nothing." Even she doesn't believe the words as they come out of her mouth.

"I didn't, did I? Where did they come from?"

"Get out, James." Lucy shoves him away as he tries to get a closer look at her neck. "Go!"

"I'm not fucking leaving, you get that through _your _head! What happened to your neck? Was it Carlos? Because I swear to God if he—"

"It was my stepfather!" Lucy interrupts him before he can finish the thought.

"He choked you?"

"He's not a very happy drunk," is her explanation. "He gets mad. I'm in the way. No big deal."

"Lucy, is he the reason you're in therapy? He hurts you, doesn't he? And you're too afraid to say anything?"

"It's not a big deal," she repeats. "Don't put yourself in the middle of this. And _don't _tell anyone."

"I'm tired of keeping everyone's secrets! First Jo and now you. This is stupid. They don't help anything. And we have to deal with what happened between us! Carlos deserves to know."

"James, what are you not understanding? I—can't—be—with—you. Even if we tell him and he breaks up with me, what would that accomplish? I'm not just going to back forth from him to you. I love him, okay? Wrap it around your mind that no matter what happens with you and me, no matter what I might feel for you, I'm with _him." _

The words sting him, eating away at the shell he'd tried to keep up for so long. The one that told him he could suck it up because they were his friends, and because they deserved to be happy. He could be okay with them being together because if he was meant to be with Lucy, then he would _be _with Lucy. And he obviously wasn't with her, so that must mean he was supposed to find his happiness elsewhere.

But he'd allowed himself to have a sliver a hope, to think that maybe she would realize Carlos wasn't the one she was supposed to be with. He'd allowed himself to believe that things would themselves out and that Carlos would realize it too, and he'd be happy for James and Lucy when all this came about.

Clearly, the universe isn't that fair, James thinks. The world does not exist to grant your wishes.

She said it herself, all but admitted that she had feelings for him. He was always going to be second rate next to Carlos. He gave her something James didn't, and nothing James could do would change that.

"I'm gonna go." His voice sounds far away, even to him. He doesn't recognize it, how it sounds hoarse and hollow and completely unlike him.

Lucy doesn't stop him as he walks out the door.

* * *

><p>Shit happens. That's his motto. Shit happens and sometimes you can't do anything about it. It happens to people who don't deserve it and to people who do deserve it, and all you can do is deal with it as it comes. Carlos doesn't believe in fate or that 'everything happens for a reason.' Sometimes people get screwed over and there's no use getting mad about it because in the end, everyone looks out for himself first and foremost. Every single time.<p>

The thing is, though, the more time he spends at the Palm Woods and with his friends from group, the more he starts to question whether his motto is right. Shit _does _happen—it happened to all of them—but for the first time in his life, he feels like he has friends who would actually put aside their own happiness for his, friends who wouldn't bail on him as soon as things went to hell, like Wayne and Andy did when he got in trouble for spray painting.

And what's more, for the first time in his life, Carlos feels like he would do the same for them.

So because of that, it's hard not to be annoyed when Wayne and Andy call him over as he passes the by the park. They were supposed to be his best friends, they'd been in the same gang since middle school. Yet neither of them had bothered to show up to the museum to check out his art competition. Not that it mattered, since he lost, and not that he was even all that surprised that they didn't go. But still. You'd think since it was something kind of important to him, they might have at least given him an excuse.

They're wasted, obviously. As usual. And so are the dozen other kids hanging out in the clearing.

"What's up, man?" Wayne asks, wrapping one arm around Carlos and pulling him into the gathering. "Where've you been?"

"Around," Carlos answers shortly. "Had some stuff to do."

"And how's the Palm Woods crew? Still keeping you busy making you talk about your feelings?"

Carlos shrugs. "Two of the girls got released this weekend. James is already out. It's not the same as it was before."

"Just like I told you," Wayne smirks, offering Carlos a hit off his joint. "Pretty soon it's just gonna be you and then what are you gonna do? They're not gonna stay around forever."

"They're my friends," Carlos says defensively, though he can't help but wonder if what Wayne says is true.

"_We're _your friends," Andy chimes in, wandering over and tossing a bottle of pills at Carlos. "And we need help selling those by the end of the week."

"Yeah, my friends who didn't bother telling me they weren't coming to my art show."

"Please," Wayne snorts. "Look, I'm sorry, but seriously? All that artsy bullshit? That's not you, man. They're trying to turn you into something you're not. They're trying to make you into who they want you to be so that you'll be an acceptable person to hang with. I can't believe you don't see that. So they have you doing art and going to therapy and you've even talked yourself into thinking you want a girlfriend. But us? We like you just the way you are. You don't have to change for us to be your friend. _This _is you."

Wayne pulls out a small bag of fine white powder and scoops a small bit onto his finger before snorting it and passing it to Andy, who does the same. When Andy holds it out for Carlos, he hesitates for a second before taking it and joining them. Maybe they're right. This is who he was. Why should he try to deny that?

Carlos decides to shake off the doubt and steps further into the clearing, where a girl he used to hang out with pulls him close and kisses him like her life depends on it. It startles him at first and he thinks he should probably step away, but her grip is firm and her body is warm against his and her mouth moves expertly against his… It feels good to not care about anything, he thinks, because when you don't care about things, they can't be taken from you. That was how he lived his life before and damn it all if it wasn't _fun. _Of course, that was how he ended up at the Palm Woods in the first place, but he's not thinking about that right now. He's thinking, _fuck it, this is fun. _

Just go with it.

The girl pulls him toward a nearby car and they fall into the backseat, yanking at each other's clothes until they're both shirtless, Carlos squeezing her bare breasts as she straddles his lap, their hips grinding against each other roughly as they try to create friction between them. The girl pants heavily when his hands move from her breasts to her waist to the hemline of her skirt, offering no resistance when he traces his fingertips up the smooth skin of her thighs to her center. Carlos pulls at the thin fabric he finds there, supporting her as she shifts her weight forward so that he can tug them off and push his own pants down past his knees.

And it _is _fun. She feels warm and tight and wet around him and she makes all the right noises when he pushes himself inside her. She whimpers his name and moves in time with him and she grips onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she comes. He finishes too and they sit there together for a few moments, catching their breath and smiling and even kissing again. It feels fine. It feels _good. _

But…it doesn't exactly feel _right. _

That's when he decides he better go home, and _now _before he can do anything else to fuck up his life. _You are an idiot, _he thinks to himself. In a single night you have probably fucked up the most important thing you have going for you: Lucy.

When they stumble out of the car, straightening their clothes, the girl shoves a note with her number scrawled on it into this hoodie pocket and he doesn't bother to refute her because he knows he'll never look at it anyway.

With his head starting to clear, the full weight of the night presses on him as if someone were squeezing his chest tight, and all he can hear are Wayne's words ringing in his ears. _They're going to leave you, every single one of them… They're trying to turn you into something you're not. _

"No," he says out loud to no one in particular. "It's not true." They wouldn't do that to him.

What if he's right though? What's to stop all of them from leaving? Logan's going to become a famous brain surgeon or something, Kendall will inevitably get into the NHL, James is going to inherit the biggest company in the Midwest. Camille and Jo will go to college and make something of themselves, and even Lucy will realize what a mistake she's made by choosing him over James. They'll all leave him and he'll still be stuck in the same place he's always been.

He's careful to be quiet when he sneaks in the back door of his house, but it makes no difference. When he gets to the top of the stairs, he can see that the light is on his room. And he knows it was off when he left.

"_Carlos Roberto Garcia, where have you been?" _His mother's voice is so high, he's sure dogs all around the neighborhood must be waking up.

Both of his parents are waiting for him. It's an ambush—that's how he sees it—and both of them are screaming about how they've given him so many chances and he continues to waste them, and how they don't know what they're supposed to do with him, and doesn't he care what a burden it is on the family? Or how it makes his father, as a police officer, look?

Then of course, his mother lapses into Spanish as she does whenever she's upset, and she's crying about how she doesn't know where she went wrong with him, because Javier turned out to be such a good boy, and Carlos can only stand there with red-rimmed eyes, head still swimming from the drugs and the realization that sooner or later he would be utterly, utterly alone.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Mr. Garcia asks, putting his hands on Carlos' shoulders and shaking him a bit to get him to snap out of the dazed silence he's currently buried in.

The pills that Andy gave him rattle in his pocket and Mr. Garcia's eyes narrow. He reaches into Carlos' pocket and pulls out the bottle.

"So it's back to this, is it? Is this what you're going to do with the rest of your life?"

Carlos shrugs. "Maybe," he mumbles.

"No. Not under my roof," his father says, no longer yelling. Now he's the scary kind of calm, the kind that Carlos used to be terrified of because it meant not that he was angry, or that Carlos was going to be punished. It meant he was disappointed. "Not anymore."

"What are you going to do? Kick me out?" He means to sound defiant, to show that he doesn't care about what they think of him, but he can hear the smallness of his voice and how it shakes as he speaks and he knows he isn't fooling anyone.

"No, _mijo, _but we aren't going to let you do this to yourself anymore. I've spoken with your Tio Antonio. He's agreed to let you go stay with him for awhile. Get you away from all these bad influences."

Carlos racks his brain, trying to place 'Tio Antonio.' He hasn't seen his uncle in years. Then it hits him. "In Montana? You're sending me away? You can't do that!"

"We're not doing it to send you away, son," Mrs. Garcia says, her eyes still filled with tears. "You have to understand that we're only doing what's best for you."

"I won't go. You can't make me," Carlos says stubbornly. "You're not gonna ship me off to his ranch in the middle of nowhere. I can't just leave school now when I'm gonna graduate in a couple of months!"

"It's already decided, Carlos," Mr. Garcia says tiredly. "We'll discuss it more tomorrow. I'll be dropping you off and picking you up from school."

_Like hell you will, _Carlos thinks as his parents leave his room to go to bed.

When the house is quiet again, Carlos snatches up a backpack and starts shoving things into it at random. A couple of shirts, an extra pair of jeans, some underwear, and his sketch book. Then he opens a drawer and pulls out a small box. He opens it to check, and yes, all his money's still in there, so he closes it again and adds that to his backpack. Carlos looks around the room, wondering if there's anything else he needs, before realizing that seventeen years of life in this house have amounted to pretty much nothing. There's nothing, except maybe for a few photos, that holds any other sentimental value.

He steps out into the hallway and pauses, glancing towards Javier's door. He shouldn't wake his brother… but this might be his last chance. Carlos quietly sets the bag down, turns the knob, and steps into Javier's room, surprised to find that the younger boy is sitting up in bed, his bedside lamp illuminating his corner of the room.

"You're awake."

Javier nods. "Couldn't sleep through all the yelling."

"Sorry." Carlos swallows. "Not just for that… but for everything."

"What do you mean?"

Carlos sits on the edge of Javier's bed. "I know you hate having to be golden child while mom and dad chase after me and try to fix my messes, Javi. I'm sorry that I put you in that position. I know you must hate me for it."

"I don't hate you, Carlos. You're my brother. But I don't understand why you're like this."

"I don't either," Carlos shrugs. He doesn't have an answer for his little brother or for himself, so he pulls Javier into a hug and tells him to go to sleep. "Goodbye, Javi."

"You mean 'goodnight'?"

"Yeah," Carlos smiles from the doorway. "Sure."

He closes Javier's door and picks up his bag again, heading down the stairs quickly and quietly and sneaking out the back door again. When he steps out onto the street he pauses, realizing that he has no idea where to go. Should he say goodbye to anyone? No, they'd just try to stop him. But he can't get Lucy out of his head, and she deserves to know, so his first stop will be to say goodbye to her and tell her not to worry. It'll be safe because Lucy won't try to talk him out of it—she'll accept his decision and she'll let the others know he's safe.

Carlos sneaks around the side of her house to where he knows her window is and peers inside, thankful that she'd left her curtains open, perhaps to let some moonlight in. He looks toward her bed, frowning in confusion when he sees that the mattress is bare and her blankets and sheets lay in a pile at the foot of the bed. Finally he notices a lump near the closet and he squints at it, barely making out the outline of a sleeping bag.

He's torn between not wanting to wake her and needing to say goodbye and he turns to leave twice, unable to make himself do it. Finally he knocks on the glass, the sound oddly magnified in the silence of the late night. Lucy doesn't stir so he knocks again, louder this time, and prays that she'll sit up.

She does. She looks toward the window and Carlos waves at her.

Lucy stands and walks slowly over, unlocking and sliding the panel up so that Carlos can climb inside.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why are you sleeping on the ground?"

Both of them speak at the same time and neither answers the other's question.

"Did you go out tonight?" Lucy asks.

Carlos nods. "My parents were waiting for me when I got home."

"You're in trouble."

"They want to send me to Montana to work on my uncle's ranch."

"When?"

"I dunno. I'm not going."

"Not going?"

"I've got enough money for a bus ticket out of town. I can take off and start over somewhere else. I don't know where yet. But I know I'm not going to let them ship me off to the middle of nowhere to live with my uncle and six cousins. I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you not to worry."

"Carlos—"

Before she can think of anything to say, he pulls her into a slow, sweet kiss. "I'll miss you. I will think about you every day."

He turns to go but Lucy reaches out and grabs him. "Wait."

"If you're going to try to talk me out of it—"

"Let me go with you."

"Go with… what?"

"I don't want to be here anymore, either," she says quietly.

"Are you sure about this?"

Lucy nods and goes to her closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and her heavy black boots. She stuffs some clothes into her own backpack and her wallet. Can he really let her come with him? It'll be great to have her there, but he already feels guilty about the girl from earlier, and he's not sure he'll be able to handle having Lucy with him without telling her.

"Lucy, wait—"

"You can't go alone, Carlos. And I need to get out of here too. This is perfect. This will work." She continues shoving things into her bag as she speaks.

"I cheated on you," he blurts out.

Lucy stops and looks up, then continues on as if she hasn't heard him.

"Lucy—"

"I heard you," she says dismissively.

"So, what? You don't care?"

"Yes, I care, Carlos. But that doesn't change anything."

"Well do you want to talk about it?"

"Right now? No. We're wasting time. The sooner we get out, the better."

Lucy finishes packing and follows Carlos out the window before closing it tightly, taking a last look at the house she hates. They walk in silence toward the bus station and she shivers in the cool night air. Carlos takes off his hoodie and hands over to her. She sticks her hands in the pocket and finds the small piece of paper shoved in there earlier by the girl from the park.

"'XOXO, Nina,'" she reads out loud.

Carlos snatches the paper from her and tears it in half before letting both pieces fall to the ground. "It's not going to happen again."

"You don't have to make any promises you can't keep, Carlos."

"You really don't want to talk about this?"

"About you fucking someone else? No thanks. Not necessary."

"Lucy! I was stupid. I wasn't thinking. But I don't want to be like that anymore. And you have every right to be mad at me, just, please, I swear to God I will make it up to you." They both stop walking and Carlos reaches out to take her hand.

"Stop. It's done."

"No, I mean it, I—"

"Carlos. Don't worry about it." Lucy meets his gaze and holds it for a long moment. "We're even."

"Wait. What is that supposed to mean?"

Lucy cocks her head to side slightly. "Think about it."

* * *

><p><strong>Soooo here are 7800 words for you…. It'd be cool if you left me a few words back. Just sayin'<strong>


	19. Come Back to Me

Chapter 19: Come Back to Me

_Come back to me, I'll be here waiting  
>Cause I'm on my knees and my love's not fading<br>If you could see the sad look on my face  
>You'd be in your car headed back to my place<em>

* * *

><p>No one really thinks much of it when Carlos and Lucy don't show up for school on Monday. No one except James, anyway. It wasn't exactly a secret that both of them liked to ditch classes in order to go smoke in the park or whatever, so Camille and the others assume that's what they're doing.<p>

At any rate, Camille has other things on her mind because when she decides to go to the drama club meeting during lunch, she's surprised at how easily everyone welcomes her back. It's almost as if she'd never left—almost. She can tell when people's eyes linger on her a little longer than necessary, and she's painfully aware of what they must be thinking of her. How she went and landed herself at the Palm Woods. How she knew the girl who died there. How she hangs out with all the other crazy kids who go there, too—even dates one of them.

But most of that doesn't matter, because rather than make her feel more awkward than she already did, everyone is pretty willing to let back into the club without making a big deal out of it. She was right about being too late to audition for a part, but they were in need of a competent props manager, and that was better than not being involved at all.

She's also surprised at how easily _she _falls back into her old self. She remembers how much she used to love drama, before her eating disorder took over her life and wrecked it. She remembers the feeling of being up on the stage, of making everyone believe that she really was whatever character she was playing. She always tried to _feel _everything, every part she played, because she wanted her audience to feel it too. She guesses that's why people had a tendency to call her dramatic, and sometimes weird. But it wasn't weird to her; it made perfect sense. She was just more of a method actor than most kids her age.

Not that it makes any difference now, she thinks. She won't have to worry about that for this production, since she'll be strictly behind the scenes. Maybe that would be for the better, though. She isn't sure she's ready to have people watching her closely, judging her every move. And aside from all of that, it's time to focus and get serious about her future. Her college acceptance letters are starting to come in, and it's going to take some serious thought to figure out where she wants to be next year and what she wants to study.

She finds herself having the same dilemma as Jo. Logan had already decided to stay close to home, and at first Camille had no trouble believing that she should too. But now… well she'd gotten into a couple of other places out of state and suddenly the idea of having real options scares her. Should she stay and be close to Logan, and her dad, and the Palm Woods?

Or could she move away and find out what life is like away from all of that?

For now, though, she shakes her head to clear it of these thoughts, instead turning back to the thick script she'd been given by her drama teacher. As the group chats and runs lines and blocks their scenes, Camille sits in the audience and watches, making notes about the props they would need for the production. It's a bit tedious, but it's still fun and she gets to be involved and when the bell rings signaling the end of the period, she feels lighter than she has in ages.

* * *

><p>James sits awkwardly across from Jo and Kendall as they have a quiet but heated argument about Jo's college decision. He listens as Jo maintains that nothing has to change and Kendall scoffs at her and rolls his eyes. For once, James is grateful to be in study hall, because if they were anywhere else, the couple would probably be full on yelling at each other for the world to hear.<p>

"Stop acting like this isn't a big deal," Kendall hisses, lowering his voice as Ms. Shipley walks by, glaring down at the trio disapprovingly.

"I'm not _acting,_" Jo replied, clenching her jaw. "I didn't tell you about because I knew this would happen! I'm staying here next year, and that's it. It's my decision to make, and I made it."

The bell rings and the rest of the students bolt, grateful for the end of the day, and James has to exert a lot of effort into not doing the same, instead listening as Jo and Kendall continue to bicker all the way down the hallway.

Truthfully, he's on Kendall's side, but Jo is just as much his best friend, so he tries to stay out of it. He can see why she wants to deny that anything is wrong, but how could it not be? Anyone in their right mind would give their right arm to go to Princeton, and here Jo was saying that she didn't even want it—that she'd be just as happy with going to the University of Minnesota with all the other townies and burnouts who couldn't get in anywhere else.

James snorts a bit at himself at this thought. He'll be one of those townies next year, probably taking classes that make him miserable in preparation for a career that will also probably make him miserable.

When he veers off to go to his own locker, Jo and Kendall keep walking, oblivious to everything but the argument they've rehashed over and over.

"I just don't understand why you won't even consider it," Kendall says.

"What are you trying to do, Kendall? Do you _want _me to go? Is this your not-subtle-at-all way of saying you're ready to break up?"

"Of course not! But Princeton is like, one of the best schools in the country! An opportunity like that might only come once in a lifetime, and you deserve to go there."

Jo stops walking and looks up at her boyfriend, who still looks agitated. "Maybe you only come once in a lifetime."

Kendall's eyes soften at that and he doesn't reply. He knows what she means; he isn't purposely taking it the wrong the way, but he can't help but feel like if she stays here for him, all he'll be doing is holding her back.

* * *

><p>By Monday night, when James still hasn't heard from either Carlos or Lucy, he knows something has to be wrong. Even if they were together, they never just ignored him.<p>

He's on the verge of calling the Garcias' house and asking Carlos' parents where he is, when the number he's about to look for on his phone pops up onto his screen and it vibrates in his hand. James rolls his eyes. _Carlos must have broken his phone,_ he thinks.

"Carlos, where the hell have you been all day?" He says, not bothering with hello.

There's silence for a moment on the other end of the line, then a woman speaks. "_I'm looking for James Diamond?" _

James' eyes widen and he nearly drops the phone. "Mrs. Garcia?"

"_Yes. Is this James?" _

"Wha—oh, yeah. Sorry! Um, can I help you with something?"

"_I was wondering if you had seen or heard from Carlos today. The school called and said he was absent, and he hasn't come home yet either." _

"Oh. No, I haven't seen him. None of us have."

"_You're sure, mijo? He didn't ask you not to tell us where he is?" _

"I swear, Mrs. Garcia, I've been trying to get ahold of him today too. Is—is everything alright? Is he… missing?"

Mrs. Garcia sighs. _"Technically, not yet. It hasn't been twenty-four hours, but since Carlos' father works at the station, he's pulling some strings to have some of his officers keep a look out. Can you think of anywhere he might be? Or who he would be with?" _

James pauses. "I don't know where he could be… but wherever he is, I think he's probably with Lucy. She wasn't at school today either."

"_Thank you, James." _

"Sure, Mrs. Garcia. Let me know if you hear anything."

"_I will. Goodbye." _

He clicks his phone off and stares down at it, deep in thought. Had they… what, run away together? But why would they do that so close to graduation? And whose idea was it, anyway? Had he driven Lucy away by insisting they tell Carlos they'd slept together? Was he the reason they were now nowhere to be found?

James dials Carlos' cell phone number one last time and decides to leave a message. When the voicemail picks up, he takes a shaky breath before speaking.

"Carlos? It's me. Look, can you just… I don't know where you are or whether you're with Lucy, but your mom just called me freaking out because you haven't been home, and the police are going to start looking for you soon. Call me back, man. Where the hell are you?"

He ends the call and looks toward his desk, where some textbooks and sheets of paper sit waiting for him to finish his homework. There's reading to be done and some math problems he needs to look at but with everything else going on, he can't bring himself to care tonight. So he shoves everything back into his bag and gets ready for bed, closing his eyes and hoping to fall into a deep sleep.

Instead he tosses and turns for what feels like hours, thinking about what happened with Lucy and feeling guilty that he'd betrayed his best friend. All he had to do was keep his feelings in check. Lucy had made her choice but he still had to step in and ruin everything, and now the two people he cared about most were gone and he had no clue how to begin looking for them.

Part of him still wants to think that the couple had just blown off the day and would be back tomorrow, laughing at James for how worried he was. He manages to convince himself that this will be the case—he'll see them in the morning, and they'll give him shit for blowing up their phones with texts and calls, and everything will go back to… well, not normal, but as close as they ever get to it. Comforted by that thought, James drifts off to sleep and doesn't hear it when his phone vibrates with a text on the nightstand next to him.

_With L. Tell others not to worry. Do me a favor? Give my mom a msg. Tell her I'm sorry but she knows why I had to go. Not her fault. But I can't do it. Thx. _

* * *

><p>James struggles through school all the next day, wondering what the message from Carlos meant. At lunch he tells everyone Mrs. Garcia called him, but he isn't exactly sure that he wants to show her the text.<p>

"Don't be ridiculous," Jo says. "She's worried sick about him, you have to tell her. She deserves to know he isn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

"But what is he even talking about?" James argues. "'She knows why I had to go'? Maybe he had a good reason for taking off. Maybe they both did…" He trails off and looks down, thinking of the bruises he'd seen on Lucy's neck.

"James, we've all wanted to run away at some point this year. Running away from your problems doesn't make them go away," she replies, her tone softer. "You know that. You have to tell her."

"I have to agree with Jo," Logan adds, reading the message himself. "You know how Carlos is. He's impulsive and so is Lucy. You have no idea what kind of trouble they could get into by themselves with no one to reign them in."

"He's right, man." Kendall gives him a serious look. "I get that you want to protect them, I do. But this isn't the way to do it."

"Okay, fine. Fine. I'll go to his house after school today."

When the bell rings and the last period of the day ends, James again walks down the hall with Kendall and Jo, lost in thought and not hearing their conversation until Jo disappears and he's left standing with only the blonde boy to his left.

"Earth to James?"

"Sorry," James blinks. "I'm just thinking about what to say to Mrs. Garcia."

"What about Lucy's parents? Are you going to tell them?"

James looks away, uncomfortable. "I actually think it might better if they don't know where she is."

Kendall frowns. "What does that mean?"

"Something's wrong, Kendall. She needs to get out of there."

"James, what is it? What do you know?"

"Look, I'm not supposed to—you can't tell anyone. Not yet, at least."

"_What, _James?"

"I think her stepdad abuses her."

Kendall stops to absorb the information. "You mean like… he hits her?"

"Not just that," James shakes his head. "I was at her house and we—"

"You what?"

He avoids the question. "There were bruises on her neck. Like finger prints. Like someone had choked her."

"Did you ask her about them?"

James nods. "At first I thought maybe I had—but I know I didn't, and then she said her stepdad gets mad when he drinks and she gets in his way. It was just… she was so casual about it, like it didn't bother her or like it was just totally normal and that's what freaked me out the most. But I think.. I think that's why she's in therapy, or at least it's part of the reason. She can't tell anyone, you know? She's afraid of him."

"Holy shit." Kendall lets out a long breath. "Fuck. James—wait. Why would you think you had done it? Unless you two were… James. Please tell me you didn't."

"I slept with her," he admits, unable to bring himself to look Kendall in the eye. "There was this whole… I had fought with my mom and we were getting high and I was trying to get her to tell me what was bothering her, and we just… I didn't mean for it to happen, you have to believe me."

"Holy shit," Kendall says again. "How could you do that to Carlos? He's your best friend!"

"I know! I know. It was so… I feel like shit about it, alright? I wanted to tell him but Lucy said we shouldn't because it wouldn't change anything, and then they both disappeared, so what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? I have no fucking idea where they could be and now I have to be the one to tell Carlos' mom that she's the reason he left, I guess, and what happens when they come back? How am I supposed to just let Lucy go back to that house knowing what her stepdad does to her? How am I supposed to ever look Carlos in the eye after what I did?"

"I don't know," Kendall shakes his head. "This is so…"

"Fucked up?"

"Tiring. It's tiring."

"Great attitude to have about your friends," James responds sarcastically.

"I don't mean it like that. It's just… if it's not one thing it's another. Nothing's ever simple. Nothing's easy. Why isn't it?"

"Are you forgetting who we are?" James asks incredulously. "Do you remember how we met? Nothing about any of us is simple."

"I know. Do you want me to come with you to see Mr. and Mrs. Garcia?"

"No. I'll go."

"Good luck."

He's nervous as he drives to Carlos' house, fretting over how to give Mrs. Garcia the news and still unable to decide if he should tell her that Carlos admitted he was with Lucy. Her mother must be worried about her… but how can James force her to come back now, knowing what he knows about her stepdad?

When he rings the doorbell, Javier answers, saying nothing and waiting for James to explain his presence.

"Is your mom home?" He finally asks.

"You're James," is the reply. "You're friends with my brother."

"Yeah," he nods. "Can I come in?"

Javier stands aside to let him in and leads him into the living room, where Mrs. Garcia sits and stares at phone as if willing it with her mind to ring.

"Mom?"

She looks up and notices James, leaping to her feet. "James? What is it? Did you hear from Carlos? Where is he? Is he alright?"

"I—" James swallows thickly, unable to meet the distressed gaze coming from Mrs. Garcia's eyes. "Yeah. I heard from Carlos," he manages to get out.

Mrs. Garcia looks only marginally relieved. "What did he say, James? Please, just tell me he's safe."

"I—I think he's fine. He said to tell you not to worry, but he didn't tell me where he is. And he… he, um, he said to tell you that—that he's sorry."

The woman's eyes fill with tears, and not knowing what else to do, James allows her to hug him tightly, cradling the small lady in his arms as she sobs. "You're—you're sure that's all he said?"

"There was more," James admits softly, pained at having to give her the rest of the message, because he knows that if she isn't already blaming herself for her son's absence, she definitely will be when he tells her the next part. "He said that it's not your fault, but that you would know why he had to leave. And that he can't do it."

At this, Mrs. Garcia's legs give out and James supports her, keeping her upright and guiding her back to the couch, where she hides her face behind her hands as she continues to weep. "This is all my fault. How could I not see this coming?"

"It's not your fault," James tries. "There was nothing—once he makes up his mind about something he just goes with it. Everyone knows that."

"I drove him away," she says miserably. "I never should have suggested… We were going to have him go stay at his uncle's ranch. Just to have a fresh start, get away from everything here. Get his head back on straight. As soon as he heard it… I should have known he would never go along with it and now…"

"I'm sorry." He wishes he could do anything to offer her any more comfort, but in all honesty he's starting to shut down. He feels like he's about to go into shock or something and that combined with the guilt he still feels about Lucy and the mind-numbing worry that is starting to consume him make him feel like he needs to pass out or punch something, whichever opportunity presents itself first.

"Thank you for letting me know he's safe," Mrs. Garcia sniffs. "Please, if he calls you again…"

"You'll be the first to know," James promises.

* * *

><p>Camille doesn't have it in her to feel anything other than blind focus. Between school and the play and her friends being missing, she's pretty sure that if she stops to try to process it all, it's going to send her into a spiral that she can't afford to give in to right now. Her medication helps with this, since it numbs out a lot of her extreme emotions, and she's glad to have the pills for the first time since being prescribed to them.<p>

By Tuesday evening she's gathered and organized all the props they would need from the theater's supply closet, making notes of who needed what and when and ensuring that they were easily accessible backstage to the actors. Impressed with the work she'd put in, the drama teacher promotes her to assistant director and saddles her with even more responsibilities, even though the production is scheduled to go on at the end of the week… Her first free weekend out of the Palm Woods.

She accepts the promotion not without some apprehension, but she figures she needs this to keep her mind off other things.

When Wednesday rolls around and still no one has heard again from either Carlos or Lucy, she has half a mind to agree with James and go out and search for the pair themselves.

"We wouldn't even know where to start," Logan reminds her. "They could be anywhere in the city. They could be anywhere in the _state _by now."

"They can't possibly be that far," James argues. "If they used credit cards they'd be found. No way Carlos had _that _much cash stashed in his room."

"He's been dealing for like two years now," Kendall says. "Do you know how much bank he could have made in that time? He was probably saving up so he'd have enough to move out after graduation. It's out of the question, James. We don't need any more of us to go missing."

"Alright, _mom, _I'll stay here and just wait around while our best friends are out god knows where."

"I want them back too! Do you think I don't know how serious this is?" Kendall yells, starting to lose his temper. "Carlos and Lucy know how to take care of themselves, and if they don't want to be found, they're not going to be."

James and the others fall silent at this. Kendall's right. There's nothing else to say.

* * *

><p>Thursday night is stressful. When Camille arrives to the theater for rehearsal, her anxiety level instantly starts rising. Students are rushing around like chickens with their heads cut off, panicking about forgotten lines and misplaced props and ill-fitting costumes. The drama teacher finally succeeds in getting the cast and crew to calm down, emotions running high as the final dress rehearsal before opening night begins.<p>

The run-through goes smoothly enough considering the chaos of the start of the evening, and everything actually seems fine up until the second act. Everyone has their lines down and their props in hand, and Camille thinks that everything might actually turn out okay.

But then Anna, who plays the female lead, stumbles over a line in the first scene of the second act and freezes. When their drama teacher prompts her for the line, Anna covers her mouth with her hand and runs off stage, leaving everyone bewildered. Camille follows her, concerned, and finds the poor girl in the bathroom, retching over a toilet and sounding as though she's about to cough up her insides.

"Anna?"

"I'm—I'm fine," Anna chokes, looking anything but. "Just give me a minute." The girl is shaking and looks paler than death as she heaves again, and Camille turns away, going to fetch Ms. Foust and inform her of the problem.

Sure enough, Anna has a fever but tries to insist that she can continue with the rehearsal, despite the fact that she looks like she could vomit again at any moment. Ms. Foust ignores her protestations and calls Anna's parents to come pick her up.

"I think you have food poisoning," Ms. Foust informs her. "What did you eat today?"

"It can't be! Everyone else would have it, too!"

Camille shakes her head. "I think you're the only one who had the fish today, Anna."

She's verging on hysterical, but Ms. Foust remains calm until Anna's parents arrive, explaining to them what's happened as they lead their daughter to the car, still trying to prove that she can perform.

"Now what?" Camille asks. "We don't have any understudies for her part."

"You'll have to do it," the teacher replies briskly. "You've watched the rehearsals and read the script a dozen times."

"What? No! I—Opening night is tomorrow! I can't be ready by then!"

"Camille, I know for a fact you've performed the part in community theater before. It'll be just like riding a bicycle. We'll run through it tonight to refresh your memory, but the show must go on! You know that better than anyone."

The thin girl's heart beats loudly in her chest, but Ms. Foust smiles at her encouragingly and goes back into the theater to deliver the news to the rest of the cast.

Rehearsal takes extra long that night, and there are a few hiccups along the way, but Camille finds that she's missed this. A lot. She remembers why she loved being on stage so much, the way she felt when she could make an audience laugh or cry with her… She remembers how much she meant it when she used to say that this was what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

* * *

><p>Lucy opens her eyes and blinks at her dingy surroundings; the walls of the dim, dirty motel room she and Carlos had been staying in pressing in at her from all sides. The boy beside her continues to sleep, if not peacefully then at least deeply thanks to the combination of substances they'd ingested the night before.<p>

She slips out of the bed silently and picks up her bag, shutting herself into the tiny bathroom and looking for a moment of respite from the suffocating feeling weighing on her chest.

She had thought this would be a good idea. It seemed right at the time, to get away from home, to take the escape route and get out from under Jack's thumb. And to be away from James, because no matter how much she tried to fight it, she couldn't seem to keep herself away from him.

Lucy reaches into her bag and pulls out the small box containing her razorblade, picking one up carefully and pressing it to her arm just hard enough to feel the sting, but not quite breaking skin yet. Carlos snores from the other room and Lucy loses her concentration and her nerve, taking a breath and lifting the blade from her arm. There's a faint red mark there where she'd been pressing down, but even as she watches, it starts to fade.

When she re-enters the bedroom, Carlos is stirring, opening his eyes sleepily and yawning widely. "Morning."

"Morning," Lucy mumbles back.

The two stare at each other in silence for a few moments, neither having much to say.

"You hungry?" Carlos finally asks.

"We don't have any food," she replies. "And we shouldn't waste the cash."

"So what are we supposed to do, starve?" Carlos rolls his eyes and stands up. "I'm gonna take a shower. And then we'll figure something out."

Lucy waits until the door is closed behind him and the water is on before she moves again. She reaches for her bag again and this time pulls out her cell phone, which she hadn't even turned on in days. As it comes to life and acquires a signal, it immediately starts buzzing with miss calls, voicemails, and texts. Her mother has left several voicemails and text messages. So have James and Camille. Logan, Kendall, and Jo have also tried to reach her. Then, of course, there's Jack. His message merely reads: _get your ass back home. You'll be sorry. _

She wants desperately to contact them, to let them know that she's safe at the very least… but she knows she can't. She isn't strong enough to resist them, because she knows that if she hears her mother begging her to come home, or the desperation in James' voice, she'll break. She'll lose her resolve and run back to them, and that's out of the question. Partially because Carlos needs her, no matter how much he says he'd be fine alone, which was his original plan, and partially because she's afraid to face what awaits her at home if she goes back. Jack. James. Her friends. School.

No, she decides, turning her phone back off, this was the right thing.

After his shower, Carlos and Lucy walk down to the nearby grocery store, where Lucy buys a few things while Carlos sneaks around shoving things surreptitiously into his pockets and backpack. Her heart pounds in her chest and she tries to act natural, terrified that they'll be caught shoplifting and arrested. But Carlos is sneaky—much more sneaky than she actually thought him capable of—and they leave the store unscathed. Both of them burst into a fit of nervous laughter as they round the corner, relief flooding through them as they push aside their guilt and tear into some of the food they'd acquired.

"I finally looked at my phone," Lucy comments, biting into an apple.

Carlos frowns. "Did you—"

"I didn't call anyone," she promises. "Everyone's freaking out, though."

"I know," Carlos sighs. "I texted James the night we left… You can't tell anyone where we are, Luce."

"I won't."

"Seriously. Because you're eighteen. They can't make you go back if you really don't want to. But I'm not. And if I go back, my parents are going to ship me off to Montana to live with my uncle. I'm not doing that."

"I won't tell anyone," Lucy repeats.

"Okay." Carlos finishes off the candy bar he'd opened and wipes his hands on his jeans. "I'm really glad you came with me, though. I shouldn't have tried to leave without you in the first place."

Lucy smiles at this. "You wouldn't have lasted this long without me."

"You're probably right. And look…" He hesitates, not sure if he wants to broach the subject again. "I really am sorry about what happened with Nina. Wayne got in my head with all this shit about how you guys just want to change me and… I don't know. I snapped I guess. It had nothing to do with you. I—I love you."

Lucy swallows thickly. "I love you, too." Now Lucy hesitates, wondering what she should say to him, knowing that he's waiting for her to elaborate on what she meant when she told him they were 'even.'

"I know I have no right to ask you this—"

"You want to know who it was," she finishes for him.

"Well… yeah."

"Does it really matter?" Lucy asks. "It's not going to change anything."

"Maybe not. But I was honest with you. Don't you think I deserve the same?"

"Telling you wouldn't make you feel better. And it wouldn't make me feel better. You're not going to like it, or me, when I tell you."

"Lucy, would you just—"

"It was James."

The silence that follows… She wishes it would somehow swallow her whole, sink her into the ground and let her disappear. Lucy stares down at the ground, afraid to look up because she can feel Carlos boring holes into her skull with his eyes.

"James." It's not a question. He doesn't sound shocked, or even mad. He sounds hollow. Like it's the worst possible thing she could have said…and it is. "You were right. I don't feel better. How could you… after everything? I _knew _you wanted him. The whole time, didn't you?"

"That's not what it was about."

"Then what?"

It's almost time to come clean, Lucy thinks. So in response, she rolls up her sleeve, revealing the pattern of scars up her forearm that Carlos has seen dozens of times but never _really _looked at. It's hard to imagine that every single one was a separate event, a moment in time where Lucy literally had nowhere else to turn to relieve the pain. It's scary, if he's honest. He watches as she runs her finger down a long gash that looks as if it's only recently been healed.

"Do you even know why I'm in therapy?" She asks.

"Because of that," Carlos answers, looking down at her arm.

"Right. But do you know _why_?"

"How could I? You never let anyone in, Luce. Not even me. I thought that after all this time… But you still keep me at arm's length. You still run to _James _even after everything."

"I have to."

"But why? Why don't you ever tell me anything?"

"Because I belong to _him!" _

"So it _is _about James," Carlos says flatly. "What was the point of us—"

"Not James!" Lucy interrupts. "My stepdad. Jack."

"W—what?" He tries to absorb what she's saying to him, but it doesn't want to compute. She can't be saying what he thinks she is. When she remains silent, Carlos looks around as if hoping someone or something will magically appear to make this moment disappear. "Fuck. Lucy. He—he hurts you, doesn't he?"

"You could call it that," Lucy replies, emotionless. She pulls the collar of her shirt aside, revealing the bruises that are just barely visible. "He doesn't like it when I struggle," she explains.

"Are you telling me that he-?" He can't even say it. It's too horrible to think about.

"He started off slow," she tells him. "Reading me stories at night, tucking me into bed. Then eventually he'd get in bed with me, tell me he was keeping me safe."

"I don't think I want—"

"I was eleven the first time he touched me," Lucy continues, speaking as if she doesn't hear him. "And I knew it was wrong, but he scared me. He told me not to tell anyone or I'd be sorry. It wasn't every night. Just when he was especially drunk. Sometimes it would be so long that I'd think he decided to stop, you know? But no. When I was fourteen I went on my first date with a kid from school. Bryce Porter, you remember him? Jack didn't like that."

"Lucy—"

"I begged him not to. At least, I think I did. Sometimes I can't tell how much of what I said was just in my head. But he didn't listen to me, obviously. I was _his, _I belonged to him, and that night he made sure I knew it."

"_Fuck_, Luce…"

"That's funny, right? I had sex with someone before I'd ever even had my first kiss."

"That's not… Lucy, that doesn't count."

"I know what you're going to say," Lucy says dismissively. "That doesn't count as your first time, what he did to you isn't really sex. I've heard it all before. But what about the second time? Or the third? Or every time after that when I didn't even bother to cry or to say no?"

"You mean he did it more than once?"

"He still does. He does it whenever he feels like it, Carlos. And I let him."

"Haven't you told anyone? Your mom? Your therapist?"

Lucy shakes her head. "He'd kill me if he ever found out I told someone. James happened to come over after Jack had just—"

"Raped you."

"I just needed it out of my head. I needed to replace it with something else and he was there. It's a bad excuse, okay? But it has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I wasn't trying to hurt you either."

"No. But you were right about something else: it doesn't change anything. I believe that you love me. But even though it had nothing to do with me, it still has everything to do with James too."

"Carlos."

"Stop denying it, Lucy! I know everyone thinks I'm dumb or whatever, just a burn-out loser drug dealer. And that's fine with me because keeping everyone's expectations low is the best way to get people to butt out of your business, but I'm not stupid, alright? You love him too; anyone with half a brain can see it, even me."

"But I'm _with _you."

"I know that. What I don't know is why. There must be a reason-you didn't just flip a coin over us. I just can't figure out what the reason is. But whatever it is, I'm still glad you're here. I still want to be with you."

"You're not mad at me?"

"I'm mad at everything right now. But I still love you."

* * *

><p>That night, Carlos has trouble getting to sleep. He's thinking about Lucy and what kind of hell she must have been going through all these years, forced to live under the same roof as Jack. He's also worried because they're blowing through a lot of cash by staying in the motel and having to buy every meal, and he's thinking it's time to start making some of it back.<p>

Lucy wakes up and it's still dark out, but when she rolls over, expecting to see Carlos sleeping beside her, she finds that he's not there. The small room they've been sharing is empty. She sits up quickly, wondering where he could be and trying not panic. He could just be getting some air, or maybe he got hungry and went to 24-hour corner store down the street.

When he walks in not three minutes later, his lip is bleeding and even in the darkness Lucy can see the bruise forming along his jawline, and she doesn't miss the way he clutches his side, wincing every time he takes a breath.

"Carlos? What the hell happened to you? Where did you go?"

"We needed some cash." He pulls an empty pill bottle out of his pocket and tosses it to her.

"But what happened to you?" She repeats.

"Look, it's not a big deal."

"Carlos!"

"There were some guys out there who warned me to take off, alright? They don't want someone else selling anything in their neighborhood."

"Jesus Christ, are you alright?"

"I'll be fine."

The next night, Carlos goes out again, even though Lucy protests. But when he's not back by 2 AM, she grows restless and wonders if she should look for him. He'd left his phone behind, so she can't even attempt to call him and find out where he is, but she decides that sitting in the dark room alone isn't helping anything.

Lucy grabs her phone and her bag and leaves the motel, walking down the dark street and searching for any sign of Carlos. She's walked nearly half a mile before she starts to feel hopeless, turning down another street and hoping that she'll be able to find her way back to the motel. A few yards away, she can hear voices coming from a parking lot behind a gas station and she approaches cautiously, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly.

"Look, fucker, we told you steer clear of this area!"

"I'm not looking for trouble, man! I just need some cash, alright?"

She recognizes Carlos' voice instantly and quickens her pace, stepping into an area lit by a street light just in time to watch as a big guy punches Carlos in the stomach while someone else holds his arms back.

"Carlos!"

His head snaps up at the sound of her voice and his eyes widen. "Lucy, don't! Get out of here!"

Lucy ignores him and tries to hurry toward him, but the big guy steps in front of her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, pretty girl."

"Let him go!"

"Not yet. It seems your boyfriend here didn't learn his lesson last night."

The two guys beat Carlos badly, and even go so far as to shove Lucy to the ground when she tries to stop them once more, yanking her by her hair and causing her to yelp loudly in pain.

"Leave her alone," Carlos gasps as he takes a kick to his side. "She has nothing to do with it! Lucy, _leave!"_

"Better listen to him, sweetie. I don't think you want to witness this."

Lucy freezes for a moment before locking eyes with Carlos. He begs her silently to take off and she nods slightly, backing away from the scene, cringing when she hears him groan. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials 911, shakily giving the operator her location. By the time she's off the phone, the two guys have taken off, leaving Carlos lying in a crumpled unconscious heap on the ground.

When the ambulance arrives, Lucy is crying hysterically, having been unable to awaken Carlos. She had managed to get his nose to stop bleeding, but there was nothing she could do about the beating he had taken to his torso and back. As the paramedics strap Carlos onto a stretcher, the driver of the vehicle wraps Lucy in a blanket and guides her into the back, instructing her in words she doesn't even process to remain calm as they make their way to the hospital.

Carlos is rushed into the emergency room, nurses running around in a frenzy to take his vital signs and try to assess the damage while they wait for a doctor. Lucy shakes her head when someone asks her if Carlos has any substances in his system and only stares back helplessly when they want to know if he had any allergies. How well did she really know him? She'd thought she knew everything about him, but she can't even remember if he's allergic to antibiotics.

Lucy isn't allowed to go with Carlos, wherever they're taking him, so she sits in the empty waiting room, staring down at her phone, her finger hovering over the contacts button.

* * *

><p>James is starting to wonder whether he'll ever get a full night's sleep again. As he lays awake in bed, all he can do is toss and turn and worry. He almost thinks he's imagining things when his phone vibrates beside him, and he stares down at the name on the screen for several seconds before his brain manages to tell him to answer the call.<p>

"Lucy?"

"_J-James_."

"Lucy? What's wrong? Where are you? …Hello?"

"_James…We're in trouble_."

James sits up quickly. "What kind of trouble? Lucy, what's going on?"

"_We're in the Bloomington hospital." _

"Bloomington? The hospital? What happened? Are you okay?"

"_I'm fine. It's… it's Carlos. He's hurt and they won't let me see him and I don't know what to do, James."_

"Okay just… just calm down. No. You know what, fuck it, I'm coming over there."

"_It's the middle of the night."_

"I don't care! Just hold on for a little while, okay? I'm leaving right now."

James hangs up the phone without saying goodbye and throws on some wrinkled clothes from the floor before grabbing his keys and wallet and sneaking out of his room. Once he's downstairs he leaves a note for his mom telling her not to worry, and quietly exits the front door, remembering to reset the alarm. Moments ago he'd felt utterly exhausted, and yet was unable to sleep. Now sleep is the furthest thing from his mind.

The drive down to Bloomington is one that should take about an hour and a half, but James makes it in just under an hour, going at breakneck speeds down the deserted highway.

James makes it to the hospital in one piece, no thanks to his reckless driving, and rushes into the waiting room, where he finds Lucy sitting alone, shivering under the blanket that the paramedics hadn't taken back from her.

When she sees him, Lucy leaps from her chair and flies into his arms, allowing James to hug her tightly, even lifting her off her feet a little. He strokes her hair and realizes she is crying into his shoulder.

"You really came," she chokes.

"Of course I did. You didn't think I'd just leave you here like this?"

"I didn't—I don't—"

"Shh, it's okay. It's fine. What's going on with Carlos? Have they told you anything?"

"He's stable," Lucy replies. "He's stable but he's still unconscious. He has two fractured ribs and a mild concussion, but there's no internal bleeding, and…"

"And what?"

"They say I can see him whenever he wakes up, but James, they found his wallet in his pocket. They recognized him from the missing persons list. They've already called his parents. Mrs. Garcia is going to take him home, and then what do I do? I can't go home, James. I can't back to that! Jack will kill me."

"We don't have to figure this out now, okay? We need to focus on Carlos."

"I know! It's just, oh my god, Mrs. Garcia is going to hate me."

"She's not going to hate you."

They fall into a silence for a few moments, both of them listening to sounds of nurses' footsteps as they make their rounds.

"I told him about us," Lucy says quietly.

James looks up in surprise. "You did? What did he say? What happened?"

"He still loves me."

"Of course he does." James looks at the ceiling.

"Does that disappoint you?"

"No," he lies. "Lucy, why did you call me?"

"I just—I didn't know what to do."

"But why _me_? Logan or Kendall would have been here in a heartbeat too." When she remains silent, James presses on. "He loves you, right? And you love him. But why did you call _me_?"

"Why did you come?" She counters.

"You know why. Don't turn this back on me. I have no problems admitting how I feel about you. And even if you never say it back, I don't care. Because deep down, I know you love me too. So whenever you're ready to admit it, that's fine with me because I'll be waiting, however long it takes."

"You don't have to wait anymore," Lucy murmurs. James' hands are clenched into fists, and she covers one of his hands with her own, her skin cool against his. "Okay? You win. I do love you. For a long time now. And I hated that, alright? I hated it because you _scared _me. I pushed you away and screwed around with other guys and yes, chose Carlos over you to make it go away. But it didn't, not for a single moment, and I'm sorry I put you through that, but I didn't want to feel the way I felt about you! I couldn't stand it because I knew if I gave into it, you would be the one person who could ruin my life."

"Lucy..."

"I told you before, didn't I? Nobody breaks my heart. But you could, and I hate that."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lucy! I don't know what else I have to do to prove that to you."

"It's not just you I'm worried about. If Jack… if he ever knew…He'd take you away from me somehow, and I wouldn't be able to handle it."

"There's something else about him that you're not telling me, isn't there? Besides that he hits you."

Lucy nods and squeezes her eyes shut. "Hitting me is the least of my worries when he's drunk… I _belong _to him. He…"

"No—"

"Since I was fourteen, James. Whenever he wants to."

Horrified, James stands up and begins pacing, his hands in his hair. "I'll kill him. I swear to God."

"Carlos' mom is going to take him home. But I don't have a home to go back to. I can't go back there."

"Then you won't go back there!" James growls fiercely. "You're eighteen, and as long as you have somewhere to go, they can't make you go back!"

"But I don't have anywhere to go!"

James steps toward and pulls her to her feet, holding her body close to his before leaning down and pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss that sends shivers down both their spines. His arm snakes around her back and her hands clench themselves in his hair before he pulls away breathlessly, tilting her chin up so that she has to look at him. "As long as I'm alive, you have somewhere to go. I won't let him get to you, Lucy. He's not going to hurt you anymore."

* * *

><p>When a nurse comes by nearly an hour later, Lucy has fallen asleep in what must be a ridiculously uncomfortable position in her chair. James stares off into space, his eyes red as he waits for some news about his friend.<p>

"Are you here for Carlos Garcia?" The nurse asks gently.

James nods, standing up quickly. "Yeah, we are. Is everything okay?"

"He woke up awhile ago and we took him in for a CAT scan and some MRIs. Everything looks normal, aside from the fractured ribs that we told your friend about earlier. He's pretty banged up, but he's going to be fine."

"Oh, thank God," James sighs in relief. "Look, I know it's past visiting hours, but is there any way I can see him? Please?"

"I can give you a few minutes with him," the nurse replies kindly. "But after that, I'm going to have to insist that you two head home for the night. Or what's left of it. You both look exhausted."

James nods and walks down the hall, pausing just outside Carlos' door before taking a deep breath and entering it quietly. The nurse hadn't been lying. Carlos looks awful, his face bruised and swollen, a bandage wrapped around his head and his arm in a sling.

"James?"

"Luce called me," he answers.

Carlos glances away and then back to James. "I knew she would. I've been… trying to make her admit how she feels about you. And now that I finally know, I kind of just wish I hadn't pushed her on it. No offense."

"None taken."

"And I'm sorry we took off without saying anything. I know everyone must be worried sick."

"Not half as bad as when they see your face," James jokes lightly. "I understand why you left. But we might as well get everything out in the open; I know why she left with you. And I know _you _know what happened between us."

"She loves you, you know?" Carlos tries to smile but it doesn't quite look right on his face. "She loves you but she can't deal with it, so she's with me instead. But I know I was always her second choice. Even from the very beginning."

"She loves you, too, Carlos," James tries. "I know she does."

"Yeah, I guess. But not like you."

James looks down. He can't deny it. "You know why I'm here, right? You're my best friend, Carlos. I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose."

"Then don't, James."

"Please," he begs. "I need you to say it's okay. I need you to tell me you'll be okay with me and her."

Carlos looks away again. "I don't know if I can," he whispers. "I know you love her, man. But I do, too. I just… she was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I don't know if I can just let her go like that."

"I know how you feel," James tells him. "I swear I do. When you two got together… I wanted to hate you, but I couldn't. I hated myself for not being enough for her. But I never resented you for it. It was so fucking hard watching you two together but I told myself that you guys made each other happy and that was all that mattered. I'm asking you—I _need _you to do the same for me."

Carlos smiles again and this time it's real. "We both know I'm not that mature."

"Come on, Carlos. Please."

Before he says anything, the nurse comes in and tells James he needs to wrap it up and leave so that Carlos can rest. "You can come back in the morning."

James turns to follow her but before he exits the room, Carlos speaks.

"James!" When he looks back at Carlos, the boy in the hospital bed gives him a long gaze. "It's gonna be okay. Take care of her for me."

* * *

><p><strong>Beast of a chapter done. 20 pages and 8600 words! Thank you as always for reviewing, favoriting, and following! Means the world to me. Please let me know what you thought! Also don't forget you can hit me up on my tumblr at xowintershine any time. <strong>

**Also.. I didn't proofread this so if you catch any glaring typos... I'm sorry. If you point them out to me I'll go back and fix them. **


	20. Pressing On

**I planned this so well. An even 20 chapters. (Ha, planned.) But can you believe it's really here? I can't. Hope you like. Last chapter. Please let me know what you thought. Apologies x infinity for the wait.**

* * *

><p><em>Now I see that it isn't the problems along the way that make us or break us. It's how we learn to stand and face them that makes the difference. -Joan Bauer, Rules of the Road<em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 20: Pressing On<p>

_I think we're going somewhere, we're onto something good here  
>Out of mind, out of state, trying to keep my head on straight…<em>

_And I won't sit back and take this anymore  
>Cause I'm done with that, I got one foot out the door<br>And to go back to where I was would just be wrong  
>I'm pressing on.<em>

* * *

><p>By the time they get back home, James and Lucy are both exhausted, and they're both terrified of what will happen when Mrs. Diamond gets ahold of them. He'd been on his way home when his mother called him, screeching into the phone that this was the dumbest thing he'd ever done and how he would be grounded until he went to college. Maybe longer.<p>

He'd tried to explain to her what was happening, but she was having none of it. So James resigned himself to the yelling and hung up when she was done, thankful for the fact that it would be awhile before they got home and hopeful that Mrs. Diamond would have time to cool off.

"It's gonna be fine," he says, keeping his eyes on the road. "We're not going to let anything happen to you. Once she knows, once we explain it to her—we just have to make her understand. She won't make you go back home."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Lucy tells him, staring out the passenger window. There are few cars on the road and not much else to look at but the highway ahead of them and the occasional tree.

Truthfully, she sounds a lot braver than she feels, because this… this is her only hope. She can't—won't—go back home, not as long as Jack is there, and if James is wrong about his mother, then. Then…what? She literally has nowhere else to go, because it's not like she can just go crawling back to Carlos, not now. Not after… She didn't even say goodbye to him, didn't try to explain it or anything, just _left _with James—god, what a _bitch, _she thinks—walked right on out of the hospital without checking that he really was going to be okay. Who _does _that, Lucy asks herself. _You do, _she answers. You avoid and you stay quiet and you try to not feel anything, and a fuck ton of good it's been doing you.

James has barely pulled into the driveway when the front door to his house flies open and Mrs. Diamond storms outside. She grips James by shoulders and shakes him slightly. "What the hell were you thinking, James David? Taking off in the middle of the night?"

"Mom—"

Before he can start explaining, his mom pulls him into a hug that he returns tightly. "You are in _so _much trouble, James David. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but your friend needs to go home."

"Mom, wait. She can't go home. She doesn't have anywhere to go."

Mrs. Diamond frowns. "What are you talking about?" She takes a good look at Lucy and realizes the girl must have been through hell and back, with her tired face and her disheveled clothing and her unwashed hair. "Come inside then, both of you, and explain to me what is going on."

"This is Lucy, Mom," James says when they're all inside the kitchen. Mrs. Diamond frowns, trying to place the name.

"Lucy. From, ah, your group?"

Lucy nods and pretends not to notice the immediate pity that fills Mrs. Diamond's face. She doesn't know what James' mother knows about her, but all the same, she knows Lucy's been in therapy, and that's enough to at least gain her _some _sympathy.

"Don't be mad at James," Lucy says quickly, trying to intervene before the woman in front of them can get a good rant going. "It wasn't his fault. We ran away and I called him in the middle of the night because I didn't know what else to do—"

Mrs. Diamond silences her by holding up her hand. "Lucy, you look exhausted, and quite frankly, like you could do with a shower. Why don't I grab you some clothes from the laundry room and let you get cleaned up? Then we can all sit down and talk this out."

"I—yeah." Lucy falters, not having expected that response. But… a shower in a real house, with normal sized shampoo bottles and hot water that runs on a temperature other than icy or scalding sounds like heaven right now. "Okay."

After she points out the guest bathroom to Lucy, Mrs. Diamond returns to the kitchen and sits with James.

"Aren't you mad, Mom? I thought you'd be furious."

"Oh, I am. I wasn't kidding about you being grounded until you go to college. But both of you look like you've been through hell and I want to know what's happening. So start talking."

So James talks, and whatever guilt he feels about betraying some details of Carlos' personal life dissipates as he explains why he needed to take off in the middle of the night. It all comes out as one long run-on sentence and he's not even sure he's being clear. He pauses to take a breath.

"Then Lucy called me because she knew his mom would have to come take him home and she can't go back to her house so I told her she could stay here, and in retrospect I probably should have cleared that with you first, but if you knew her the way I do, you'd understand what I mean about her _really_ not being able to go home, and I'm really sorry I worried you, but I had to go help them, Mom."

"James," Brooke sighs, "whatever problems Lucy is having with her parents, they need to be sorted out with them. I know you mean well, son, but…"

"Mom, please. You don't understand. She can't go back there. Her stepdad is literally the worst fu—the worst person ever, okay? He—he hits her."

Mrs. Diamond gasps. "Are you sure?"

"I've seen the bruises, Mom. That's why she's been at the Palm Woods. She's scared of him. But the thing is, she's eighteen, so, she doesn't have to go home if she doesn't want to, right?"

"Technically, no," Mrs. Diamond says slowly. "She's a legal adult now, so her parents can't force her to live with them if she has other options. But hasn't she told her mother what's been happening?"

James shakes his head. "She's too afraid."

"I need to think about this."

"Mrs. Diamond?"

James' mom turns to find Lucy standing in the kitchen doorway, her hair wet, wearing the Nike shorts and t-shirt Brooke had given her. The clothes hang on her small frame loosely (though not nearly as much as James' clothes had the last time she spent the night), but that isn't what Brooke Diamond notices first.

"Oh, honey."

It's impossible not to notice the scars that run down Lucy's arms, and the ones littering her thighs. They range from pale and fully healed to angry and red and recently made. There are short rows of lines, as if they had been done carefully and methodically, and there are hasty gashes done in moments of especially horrid pain.

"I understand if you don't want me here," Lucy says softly. "And I'm sorry about worrying you."

"Come here, Lucy." Mrs. Diamond pulls out a chair for Lucy to sit in and watches the girl closely for a moment. "Your stepfather. He abuses you, physically?"

Lucy nods. "And um…" She glances at James. "And… sexually."

Brooke closes her eyes for a second. "And no one knows? Except us, I mean?"

"And Carlos."

"Okay. I won't make you go back there, Lucy. I can't make you confront him if you aren't ready. You'll be safe here for the time being. When James goes off to college… well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Thank you. So much, Mrs. Diamond."

"It's fine. You look exhausted. Go sleep for awhile and then we'll figure out what to do about getting some of your clothes and things."

When Lucy leaves the room, Brooke turns back to her son.

"Are you serious, Mom? About letting her stay?"

"I'm not made of stone, James. I know you think I am, but I only want what's best for you. And your friend looks like she needs help."

"I don't think that about you."

"Yes you do," Mrs. Diamond says matter-of-factly. "But you're a teenage boy and I've come to realize it's just part of the territory of being a parent sometimes."

"I just get frustrated with you," James tells her. "I feel like you think everything I do is a screw up, from my grades to my friends, to what I want to do with my life."

"I have never called you a screw up, James."

"No, you just made me feel like one." His mother looks hurt but James presses on. "I _know _you don't mean to make me feel like that, but you have to start letting me decide things for myself."

"I just want what's best for you, James. I want you to be happy."

"I know, but I want you to understand that I _am _happy. Or at least, I'm getting there."

Mrs. Diamond looks at her son affectionately. "You really are growing up, aren't you?"

"Trying to." James shrugs his shoulders.

"What if we…made a compromise?"

"A compromise?"

"I'll let you choose what you want to focus your studies on next year, but you have to _promise _me that you'll get your degree before you leave school. And I would like it if you take _some _business classes, just in case."

"Mom, really?"

"Really."

"That's… yes. I promise. Seriously? This is awesome. Thank you."

James hugs his mom again and she reaches up to stroke his hair soothingly. "Now, you go get some rest, too. You look like hell."

* * *

><p>There's a lot of silence and awkward staring at the Garcia house.<p>

Carlos is fidgety and wishes he could sit still because it's actually pretty painful to keep moving, given that every inch of his body feels like it's taken a beating. Which, of course, it has. As he sits in the living room with his brother, his arm in a sling and a bandage on his head, Carlos is still only thinking of James and Lucy.

_It's gonna be okay. Take care of her. _

Would it be okay, though? Could it? The one—_one—_fucking girl he'd ever really loved, chose his best friend over him. And that's all he cares about right now, because honestly, being shipped off to Montana doesn't seem like that bad of an option anymore if it means he won't have to see them every day. He wasn't lying when he'd said _we both know I'm not that mature. _

But no. He'd told James it would be okay, and it would. He would make it because through all of it, his friends deserved to be happy. Especially Lucy, because fuck if he knew anyone on earth who'd been through as much as she had. And if it was James she needed, and not him, then he wouldn't begrudge her that.

Carlos and Javier can hear Mr. and Mrs. Garcia arguing in their bedroom, their muffled voices carrying through the house. Javier huffs a little and looks at Carlos, and Carlos can see it written on his little brother's face that Javier is trying _so _hard not to blame Carlos for this, but he _is, _a little bit, and Carlos can see that too. And some of that guilt that he'd been trying to push away for a long time now, that comes creeping back into the forefront of his mind, how his parents can never just relax because they're always dealing with him, and how his little brother doesn't get the attention he deserves, and how they all have to lie and say Carlos is doing just fine whenever any relatives ask about him.

It could have been a lot worse, he thinks. Those guys could have killed him if Lucy hadn't called an ambulance. They'd have beat him to a pulp and left him for dead in the middle of a dark alley. The other thing he thinks as he waits for his parents to come out, is that even though it sucked, and it hurt like hell, and at the end of it all he still lost the girl… maybe that's what needed to happen to get him to realize that the person he's been trying to be for the last few years isn't the person he _actually _is.

Maybe despite everything, he can be something better than he is.

Because he has to say, at this moment in time, there is literally nowhere to go but up.

When his parents enter the room, Carlos doesn't know whether to expect more yelling or crying or what. They sit down across from the brothers, Mr. Garcia gazing at Carlos with an unreadable expression.

"Carlos. It's time to start talking. We can't go on like this."

And that's it. No shouting. No guilt tripping.

So he talks.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing out of his mouth, something he hadn't said to his parents in years probably, and he's surprised to find how much meaning is packed into those two words. He's sorry for worrying them, he's sorry for their constant fighting, for the fact that they're spending all their savings on sending him to the Palm Woods for treatment. Just. Everything. His eyes tear up of their own accord and he says it again. "I'm sorry," he chokes. "Mom…Dad."

And then his mom is crying and she looks like she wants to hug him but decides against it because it will probably cause more pain than comfort, and his dad looks more relieved than he's looked since Carlos started high school, as if he knows that just by saying those two words, things might actually, somehow, turn out okay.

And actually, somehow, Carlos thinks they might, too.

"We don't want to send you away," Mr. Garcia finally says. "But we need you to let us help you."

A week ago, Carlos would have gotten angry, defensive. He would have scowled and said, "I don't need your help." He would have stomped off to the park and gotten wasted, numbing everything out and loving the feeling of not existing for a few hours. Until reality crashed back down around him.

"If things aren't working at the Palm Woods," his mother starts hesitantly, "we can try something else. If you'd rather work this out with just us as a family, we can negotiate that. Just tell us what you want, Carlitos."

Carlos shakes his head. "No. I—I like it there," he admits. "They can… it helps me."

"But there's one thing that's not negotiable," Mr. Garcia says. "This cannot happen again. So if you want us to take you seriously, the drugs have got to go. You _have_ to get yourself clean and stop selling."

"And you really don't want to make me go to Montana?" Carlos asks, not daring to believe it.

"No," replies his father. "That was obviously a mistake to threaten you with that. We want you safe at home with us, but we need to know that you're going to try to make a change."

Carlos nods this time and looks up at his parents. "I can do that."

* * *

><p>James sits next to Lucy on the guest bed, rubbing circles into her back as she holds her phone in her hand. She stares down at it, the seconds ticking by, and still she makes no move.<p>

"You can do this," James tells her.

The girl shakes her head. "He'll make me come home if he knows where I am," Lucy says quietly. "And there's no way my mom will keep it from him, even if I ask her to."

"Lucy…" James pauses, wanting badly to say what's on his mind. He's far past the point where this is none of his business anyway. "I think you need to tell your mom what's going on. She needs to know the truth. You can't hide it from her forever."

"He'll kill me," she mumbles. "Or her. I can't."

"Yes you _can,_" James insists.

"What if she doesn't believe me? Then what do I do? Because if it gets back to him that I opened my mouth…"

"She's your mom, Luce. It might be hard for her to hear, but she'll believe you. She has to. You wouldn't lie about something like this."

"You'd be surprised about what I can lie about," she retorts.

"Then maybe it's time to stop," James says gently. "You don't have to do it right this second. But you do need to tell her you're safe."

Steeling herself, Lucy presses the button that speed-dials her mother's cellphone. It rings twice before a frantic voice on the other end picks up.

"It's me," Lucy says shakily.

James sits close enough that he can hear the woman's response.

"_Lucy, where are you? What's happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" _

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm—I just wanted to let you know I'm safe."

"_Where are you? Do I need to come get you? You have to come home!" _

Lucy shakes her head, though her mother isn't there to see it. "No, I—I can't, Mom. Not yet, okay? I'm staying with a friend. And I'm going back to school. But I'm not going home yet."

"_But _why_?" _

"I just. It's…" she mumbles. "I'll call you again soon, okay? Don't worry about me."

She clicks the phone off before her mother can protest again and looks at James, who continues trying to soothe her without words. He stays with her in the guest room until she finally drifts off to sleep, hoping against hope that he's doing the right thing.

* * *

><p>Carlos and Lucy are absent from school again on Monday, leaving James to fill everyone in on what happened over the weekend. He doesn't miss the side-eye glance from Kendall when he admits that he and Lucy are together now, and he refrains from looking Logan in the eye, not wanting to see the pensive frown he knows is there. He knows he'll have to answer to them eventually, but as of right now, he's not ready to hash things out and endlessly discuss every choice he's made.<p>

After school, he listens to Kendall and Jo have the argument about Princeton for the millionth time.

"Jo, _you're _the one who applied there in the first place! How can you be so scared of it now?" Kendall asks.

"That's not fair," she tells him. "You know exactly why."

"We're past the whole Jett thing."

"Maybe you are! But to me it's still the first thing I remember every morning and the last thing I think about at night. Every—single—day. So if I'm a little bit scared of putting myself in an unfamiliar situation, I have every right to be! Fear isn't always a bad thing, Kendall. It keeps you from making mistakes. From doing things you're not ready for. It's natural."

"But not when it keeps you from living your life! You know I'm right, so can you just admit that this is something you want to do instead of pretending that you'd be perfectly happy letting go of everything you've dreamed of since you were a kid just to stay with me?"

"Kendall, Jesus, just stop. I don't want to do this right now."

This time, James can't hold in a snort at Kendall's insistence that he's just trying to be helpful. Kendall kisses Jo goodbye, pretending to ignore James, but immediately rounds on him when his girlfriend is out of earshot.

"Dude. What's your deal?"

"No deal," James replies.

"James. Seriously."

James stops walking and looks at Kendall. "It's nothing, Ken. It's just… I mean. I think you're doing a great job with the whole pretending to be supportive thing. It's very smooth. I have to give you props."

"I'm not pretending, jackass." Kendall looks mildly offended. "And I'm not trying to be smooth. But she _got in _to Princeton, for Christ's sake, and if she stays here just for me, how can I live with that?"

"But you don't actually _want _her to go, do you?"

"What I _want _is to support her. And you're supposed to be my friend! I want you to support me for supporting her."

James rolls his eyes. "I do support you. Go Kendall. Woohoo!"

Kendall shoots him a glare, hearing the sarcasm dripping from James' voice. "You're pretending, aren't you?"

The corners of James' lips lift in a slight, sympathetic smile. "Just like you."

He bids goodbye to Kendall, heading for the parking lot, not noticing the figure trailing behind him.

* * *

><p>Instead of school, Carlos has an appointment with his therapist. What he plans to say, he has no idea, but he's thinking that maybe it's time to start being totally honest. And that maybe he should start taking her advice.<p>

Before heading to the Palm Woods, he takes one last trip to the park to find Wayne.

Carlos has to stop and laugh at himself for a minute. He'd always thought he was outsmarting Dr. Cartwright when she pressed him for details about his friendship with Wayne. He'd always known she wanted him to acknowledge that his choice of friends was the source of his troubled behavior, from vandalism to drug dealing and everything in between.

What he was never ready to do was tell her she was right.

Because yeah, he'd gotten into trouble, and he'd done a few—or a lot—of things he wasn't exactly proud of, but Wayne _had _been a friend to him. Hadn't he? If nothing else, he accepted Carlos for who he was and welcomed him into his group when Carlos had no one else. It was hard to forget about all that.

But a clear head is finally starting to change his perspective on it. Carlos has made bad choices—a lot of them in the past few years—and he never wanted to admit that a large part of it was because he wanted to impress his friends. He liked those looks of admiration when he pulled off something crazy, enjoyed it when they slapped him on the back and congratulated him when he got away with stealing something or applying a particularly obscene batch of graffiti to a blank wall. So, no, he wasn't an innocent bystander by any means… but he is finally ready to admit to himself that it's time to cut some things out of his life. For good.

When he gets to the park, he finds Wayne there as usual with a couple of other kids ditching school for the day.

"You look like shit, Garcia," is Wayne's greeting to him.

"We need to talk," Carlos says.

"You breaking up with me?"

Carlos shrugs. "If that's what you want to call it."

The smirk slides off of Wayne's face and he walks off with Carlos so that the others won't overhear them. He looks Carlos up down, noting the sling, the bruises, the bandages. "What happened to you, man?"

"Oh, now you care?" Carlos snorts. "That's funny, 'cause I don't remember you showing any concern before."

"What was I supposed to do, Carlos? You just up and took off with Lucy without telling anyone."

"You were supposed to give a shit!" Carlos says, his voicing raising despite his promise to himself that he would remain calm. "But you don't, and you never have, about anything but yourself." It's as if he's only realizing the truth behind the words as they spill from his mouth, like he's seeing Wayne for the first time.

"Seriously, dude? Where is this all coming from? Is it all your little therapy friends putting ideas in your head? I tried to warn you about them, Carlos. They don't want you the way you are. They only want you if you'll be what they think you should be."

"You're wrong," Carlos tells him. "You want me to believe that because otherwise, you're alone. I might be different to you now, but it's not because _they _tried to change me. It's because _I _tried to change me. The only thing they've ever done is help me be the best version of me, and that's a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

"So, what, you're just gonna run off into the sunset holding hands and singing? Wake up, man!" Wayne shoves him lightly but it's not aggressive or malicious. It's like he just wants Carlos to pay attention. And in a way, he _is _sincere about it. "I told you, Carlos! They're going to leave you, and then what will you do?"

Carlos shakes his head. "It doesn't matter," he says quietly. "Even if you're right, and every single one of them gets out of this town and I'm still here, I'll always know that during this one year all of them had my back more times than you have in the last three."

"You know what? Fuck you, then," Wayne spits. "You can blame all your problems on me if that's what you think you need to do, but I hope you take a good long look in the mirror and realize that everything that's happened to you is because of _you._"

Wayne walks off then and Carlos doesn't bother trying to call him back or argue with him anymore. He's right. Everything that had happened to him _was _because of him, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to make a fresh start now.

When he gets to the Palm Woods for his session with Dr. Cartwright, she smiles at him calmly, her clipboard present in her lap like always.

"Carlos. It seems we have a lot to talk about."

"Yeah," he replies. "I think we do."

* * *

><p><em>Everyone keeps telling me I need to make the decision for myself. That I should do what's best for <em>_**me **__and worry about everything else later. What no one seems to understand is that I __**am **__doing what's best for me. And it __**is **__my decision._

_I know he wants me to be happy and to… be the best person I can be. But what if I can only be those things when he's with me? It's because of him that I spoke up. That I confronted my problems—my fears. That I got better. _

_How can he want me to give that up and start all over again by myself? _

Jo stops writing and puts her pen down, frowning down at the last line again. That's it, she thinks. There it is, right there. It had been forever since she actually did the writing exercise in her journal, but now she remembers why it was supposed to be so important. When you write something no one is ever going to see, you're more honest.

And now she realizes that this whole time, she hasn't been honest with anyone. Not Kendall, or her dad, or even herself.

_If I do this… it means leaving him and everyone I love behind. My whole support system, everything that keeps me together. _

_It means being on my own… It means showing myself that I don't have to let fear dictate my life. I thought I had won that battle when I decided to testify against Jett. But I think I'm finally starting to understand that that was just the first step._

_I think what scares me the most is that I'll be happy there. It seems unfair to Kendall—to everyone—that after everything they've done for me, I could just be selfish and take off and think only of myself. It seems unfair for me to be to just move on and be happy when they can't. _

_James was right all along. It's just as unfair for me to use Kendall as a crutch. _

Kendall's words ring in her head as she closes the journal.

You deserve to go there, he had told her. You deserve to get the very best out of whatever life can give you. And if that's with me, then that's great. And if it's at Princeton… then that's what you need to do. That's where you need to be.

* * *

><p>A short silence follows when Jo explains her plan to Camille. Then, the thin girl squeals loudly and throws her arms around Jo, crushing her in vice-like hug.<p>

"Oh my god! That's amazing! This is great."

"Really? You think?"

"Yes! Look, I know it's not easy—I swear I know—but this, this is going to be so good. And it's our last month of school before graduation and I'm not going to let you be wound-up ball of angst the whole time. Besides, I have some news for you, too. And I haven't told anyone, not even Logan."

"Okay. What is it?" Jo disentangles herself from Camille and notices how nervous her friend looks.

"I'm going to LA."

Jo's jaw drops. "What?"

"I've been getting my college letters back, waiting and waiting to feel what Logan feels when he talks about making his course schedule and touring campus, and the longer I waited the more I realized it wasn't going to happen. I just…" She pauses and looks away. "I want to act. It's all I've ever wanted; the only thing that I've ever felt _good _at. And maybe… I don't know, maybe I'll get there and find that I should to do the college thing, but I just feel like this is something I have to try. So that's what I decided. It's really happening."

"Oh my God," Jo says, pulling Camille into another tight hug. When she pulls away, both girls have tears in their eyes. "You. Are. Amazing. Camille—you. You're brilliant, and I am so proud of you. But how are you not freaking out?"

"I am," Camille replies. "I'm a wreck. But… I'm also just so ready for this. Can I tell you something? When I started going to the Palm Woods, I didn't expect to get anything out of it. I was going through the motions, doing the bare minimum to make everyone think I was getting better so they'd let me out and I could go back to living the way I wanted. I never really thought about wanting _more_ for myself. But I met you, and Logan, and everyone, and because of you guys, because of everything we've been through this year, I started thinking that I didn't _have _to just do the bare minimum. I could face my fears, like you did with Jett, and do things I never thought I could. You make me feel like I don't have to let anything hold me back. And so I'm not going to. But no matter what happens after graduation, you will always be my best friend, whether you stay in Minnesota or go to Princeton."

"I don't think I'm as strong as you think I am," Jo says quietly. "Deciding to pick up and leave has been the hardest thing I've ever done. What if I'm not ready? What if I fail miserably?"

"Then at least you know you tried it. The hardest part is deciding, and you've already done that. And you _are _ready. When I started actually trying to get better instead of just trying to convince everyone of it, I was terrified. Letting you guys get close to me, letting you see me at my weakest? What if I pushed you all away? But if I hadn't tried, I never would have made the friendships I did with you guys."

"Yeah. And you're stuck with us now," Jo laughs, wiping her eyes.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

><p>When Logan comes over for dinner that night, Camille has to stop and wonder she really is doing the right thing. How she supposed to look in his eyes, the person who helped her through her worst time, and tell him she was planning to leave him?<p>

But he would understand, she tells herself. And that right there is the reason she knows she can do this. Because he'll understand and support her and he won't turn it into a fight. Because he's Logan.

The doorbell rings and Camille lets him in, standing up on her tip-toes to kiss him lightly before shutting the door behind him.

"Hey." He smiles at her with his crooked grin and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Camille reminds herself to keep breathing as she looks at him.

Even after all this time, he still gives her butterflies when he looks at her, and it's so… _unreal _that she had had a crush on him for ages before he finally noticed her, and now they're really together, and he's every bit as amazing as she imagined him. Every bit and more. He's the guy of her dreams. Better than that, actually, because he's _real. _

She's quiet through dinner, doing her best to pick at the meal she'd made, and trying to focus as Logan talks about finalizing his plans for freshman orientation this summer.

"Anyway, so the compromise my parents and I made, since they won't let me go out of state for school, is that they said I could live on campus instead of at home, but I have to come have dinner or whatever every other weekend so they can check on me…"

"I need to tell you something," Camille blurts out, interrupting him.

Logan stops talking at once and looks at her, concerned. "I knew something was on your mind. What is it?"

"I—" Camille stops. She really should have thought this through better. "Um, I…shit."

"Camille?"

"I got into U Minn," she says.

Logan's eyes practically bug out of his head. "You did? That's fantastic! This is—you're not happy," he pauses and stares at her again. "Why aren't you happy? What's wrong?"

"Well. It's. I got into some other schools too."

"Okay…" Logan says slowly. "That's… okay. We can figure it out."

Camille shakes her head. "I, um, I already know what I want to do."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I—I've been thinking about it a lot, and I don't want you to think that I wasn't thinking of you when I made the decision, because I was, it's just that… Fuck." Camille pauses and takes a breath before trying again, wishing she didn't see the cloud of uncertainty settling behind Logan's eyes. "I don't want you to think that I'm—abandoning you or—goddamn it. I can't even… Okay. Here's… I'm going to LA. To act."

She's met with a shocked silence. Logan looks surprised at her announcement, and she can tell there's something else going on in his head but he remains impassive, not betraying any hint of whatever else he might be feeling.

"Oh," is all he says after a while.

"Oh," Camille repeats. "Is—is that all?"

"I don't… really know what else to say," Logan says truthfully.

He's happy for her, really. But at the same time… "When did you, um…?"

"When did I decide this?"

Logan nods and swallows thickly. "Yeah."

"Pretty recently." More silence from Logan. "Can you say something? Please?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Anything! Yell at me if you have to, just tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't want to yell at you," Logan says quietly. "I just. I-I know this is everything you want. And I'm so, so proud of you for being strong enough to do this, and I swear to god that I'm excited for you, it's just. Fuck. Camille, I—" Camille looks up and meets his eyes when he pauses, and she notices that they're red around the rims, as if he's trying not to let himself get too emotional.

"You what?" She asks softly.

"I lo—I'm going to miss you," he answers. "What does this mean for us?"

"I don't know, exactly," Camille admits. "I know that I don't want to give you up. But this is something I need to do. You get that, right?"

"Of course I do. I would never want you to come to U Minn with me if your heart was somewhere else."

Camille reaches across and rests her palm on Logan's cheek, stroking her thumb in small circles. "My heart is wherever you are."

"Same here."

Logan grins at her and she can still see the sadness in his eyes as they both realize that in the not-so-distant future they'll have to say goodbye. But tonight is not that night, and Camille speaks again.

"There's something else." She can feel her heart beating in her chest and she knows her face is flushing red. "We don't have to decide and talk about everything tonight. But there's one thing I _am _sure that I want." She meets his gaze again and hopes that he understands what she's trying to tell him.

Surprised into silence again, Logan raises his eyebrows. "You mean, um-?"

"Yes."

"Okay, not to like, ruin the moment, but what about your dad?"

"Late shift. We have plenty of time."

* * *

><p>Kendall exhales, avoiding looking Jo in the eye as she finishes her speech.<p>

"You were right, Kendall. This whole time you've been right. If I stay here next year, I'd just be doing it because I was scared," she says. "I don't want to be scared anymore."

"So… you're going to Princeton," he says slowly, letting it sink in.

Jo nods. "I have to do what's best for me, right?"

"You do," Kendall smiles, his throat tightening. "You know I want that for you. It was just… easier to say it than it is to actually have it happen."

Jo clasps Kendall's hand tightly, her eyes tearing up again. "You can come with me," she says, only half joking.

"You know I can't do that," Kendall says gently. "I can't go with you. I love you, Jo, you know that, but you can't stay here just to be with me, and I can't leave just to be with you. We both have to do what's best for us. But we can make things work when you leave. I don't want to lose you."

"I love you, too! But the thought of leaving you and everything I know here kills me! I don't—I don't think I can do the distance thing, Kendall. It's going to be too hard trying to pretend like we have a normal relationship when we're so far away from each other. I can't do it. I don't…want to."

Kendall takes his hand from Jo's grasp, frowning. "So, what? We're just another one of those high school couples that breaks up after graduation when we go our separate ways? Is that what you want?" He shakes his head, unable to believe the turn their conversation has taken.

"Of course it's not what I want! But let's just… let's just finish out the school year and see what happens. Can't we do that?" Jo pleads.

"No," Kendall snarls. "How can you say that? No, screw that. I'm not going to be in a relationship that has an expiration date! If you don't have more faith in us than that, then we should just break up now."

"No," Jo says. "No, that's not—I don't want—"

"Too late. It's done."

Kendall walks away, fuming, hurt, and feeling betrayed, leaving Jo standing speechless in her doorway.

* * *

><p>Camille gasps in a breath when Logan sucks on her neck, her mind and heart racing as she contemplates what they're about to do. His body rests on top of hers, both of them still fully clothed as they ease into the idea of taking this to the next step.<p>

Logan kisses her on the lips and looks into her eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Camille nods. "I told you, I do," she says playfully. "You ask me again and I'm going to wonder whether or not _you _want to."

"Of course I do," Logan grins. "I just don't want you to feel pressured."

"It was my idea in the first place, if I recall correctly."

"Touché."

Logan sits up and backs away from her, pausing to bite his lip before lifting his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. Camille does the same with hers, revealing the purple bra underneath. There isn't anything fancy or particularly sexy about, and she has a moment to wonder whether she ought to have tried a little harder to make this special. There are no candles flickering in her bedroom, no soft romantic music playing in the background.

It's just the two of them in her room with the door locked, both sitting on her bed with their shirts off. The lights are still on, for crying out loud.

Apparently the same thought strikes Logan at the same time, but rather than fret about it, he cracks a smile. "So. This is kind of weird, right?"

His sincerity puts Camille at ease again. "Yeah," she breathes. "But good weird. This is how it should be, you know? I don't want—I didn't want to make it seem like… like it wasn't us. Because I—it's enough for me, just having you here—and I—"

"I love you, Camille."

Camille stops midsentence. "I—what?"

"I love you," Logan repeats. "I just want you know that."

"I love you, too." The words feel strange, foreign on her tongue, but she knows in her heart that she has never meant anything more than she does now.

Slowly, shyly, awkwardly, the rest of their clothes make it to the floor, both of them blushing, both unsure what to do with their hands and whether or not they should cover themselves up. Logan has the presence of mind to hit the light switch, leaving them in partial darkness as her nightlight glows. Both of them take in each other's appearance. Her small breasts, her collarbones, the way he can almost count every individual rib in her torso; the slight muscles of his shoulders and arms, the small patch of hair on his chest, and of course the scars that serve as a permanent reminder of where he came from, and also of how far he's come.

But despite the flaws of which they are both well aware, neither feels ashamed or self-conscious.

"You're perfect."

They say it at the same time, smiles lighting up both their faces before their lips meet, tongues moving together as they had done so many times before.

He'd be lying if he said he'd never _thought _about it. He was a growing teenage boy, wasn't he? He couldn't help the images that came to him unbidden late at night when he was in bed, or in the shower. He couldn't help that he wondered what her body would feel like against his, what her voice would sound like as it rasped his name when he touched her.

What he finds is that none of it is like what he thought; it's better.

She lets out a quiet sigh when his hand finds her breast, her lips parted ever so slightly as he kisses her neck. When he moves lower, Camille's eyes falls closed, her chest heaving as he touches and explores her. Electricity moves up her spine and she threads her fingers into his hair, moaning softly as his fingers move slowly inside her and his thumb rubs her clit. Suddenly she is jello, boneless against the mattress, feeling everything all at once and taking shallow breaths.

Logan bites his lip, a slight frown on his face like he usually has when he is working hard on something. He moves his thumb again and watches the curve of her back as it arches up, feeling her body shiver around him as the comes. He presses his forehead to hers, their eyes meeting as he revels in the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat and her unsteady breathing as she regains composure.

When she can speak again, it's his name on her lips.

"Logan," she whispers. "Now."

* * *

><p>Late that night, with Mrs. Diamond already in bed, James and Lucy sit in the living room together, flipping mindlessly through channels. They're trying to keep Lucy's mind off the fact that she's returning to school in the morning, and not doing a good job of it. Still, she feels okay, curled into James' side, his arm wrapped around her, both of them breathing in unison. It's warm and peaceful and <em>safe, <em>which is not something she's felt very often.

Both of their hearts skip a beat when a loud banging comes from the front door. James' head snaps up as the banging continues.

He stands up and Lucy tries to tug him back. "Don't," she says. "It can't be anything good at this hour."

James throws her what he thinks is a reassuring look and continues to the door, standing stock still when he opens it to find her stepfather standing on his front porch.

"You," James says. "What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?"

"Me," Jack snarls back, ignoring his questions. "Where is she?" He attempts to shove past James, but the boy holds his ground and blocks the entrance.

"Leave her alone," James tells him. "She's not going anywhere with you. Not tonight. Not ever." This is when he notices, really notices, Jack's appearance. His eyes are bloodshot and nearly drooping, his clothes disheveled. James draws himself to full height and narrows his eyes. He can feel his anger rising to a boil—the man in front of him is the cause for all the pain and hurt suffered by the girl he loves, and James just wishes he could make Jack feel a fraction of that pain.

But he stays in control of himself. "If you don't get off my property in the next five seconds, I'm gonna call the cops. So leave."

"That girl is _mine,_" Jack snarls, attempting to go inside again. "I'm not leaving without her."

James' fist slams into his face before he ever sees it coming. Jack stumbles backward a step or two, holding his jaw. It looks like he wants to lunge at James, but he seems to think better of it. Instead, he spits on the porch and glares furiously at James.

"Get out of here," James says, his voice deadly calm.

Jack sneers and turns his back, and James closes the door, making sure that the deadbolt is locked before he returns to Lucy.

"I should just go with him," Lucy says, standing frantically.

"No way." James shakes his head and reaches out to steady her. "I already told you, you're not ever going back there."

"This won't be the end of it! He's going to come back! What if he—what if he tries to do something to you? Or your mom? It'll be all my fault."

"No, Lucy, listen, okay? Listen to me. No matter what happens, from here on out, it's _not _your fault. It's his. This is because of _him _and what he did to you. He can't hurt you when you're with me. So we're gonna go to sleep and go to school. And we're make it through the day. And we're gonna keep doing that until we can figure out a way to get him out of your life for good."

"How can you be so sure of everything?"

James smiles this time. "The only thing I'm sure of is that I want to keep you safe, and I'll do anything I have to do to make sure you are."

* * *

><p>From the moment she walks in the entrance, Lucy knows it's going to be a bad day. She gets called in to talk to the guidance counselor before first period, who lets her know that her chances of actually graduating with the rest of her class are slowly dwindling away. People stare and openly talk about her as if she can't hear them—phrases like "guess the goth slut decided to come back" follow her down hallways as she tries to make it from class to class. Her teachers mark her attendance, some skeptical that she'll be able to make up for lost time, others disapproving of her unexcused absence, and still others merely wondering why she's bothered at all.<p>

Third period is when everything comes to a head.

She sits at her desk, listening to her teacher and taking notes (Logan would be proud) when someone softly knocks at the classroom door before entering without waiting for a response. The guidance counselor shares a few hurried, whispered words with her teacher and the latter turns and makes eye contact with Lucy. It's only there for a moment, but there is no mistaking the look of pity that flashes across her teacher's face before she speaks.

"Lucy, you need to go down to the office. Your mother's here to see you."

Suddenly, her insides are icy and her mind goes blank as she wonders what this could be about. Is she here to drag Lucy home? To force her to tell her where she'd been?

"What's going on?" She asks the guidance counselor as they start down the hall, but the woman merely puts a hand on her back as if to guide her.

"Your mother needs to speak with you," is all the answer the counselor is willing to give.

As soon as they round the corner, Lucy's mom is pulling her into a tight hug. When she finally gets a good look, Lucy notices that her mother is pale and tense.

"What's wrong?"

"I've already signed you out for the day," she says in reply.

Bewildered, Lucy follows her mom out to the parking lot, wondering why no one has given her any clue as to what this might be about.

"Mom-?"

Before they get to the car, her mom hugs her again and this time she can feel the woman trembling in her arms as she sobs silently.

"It's your stepfather," she finally manages to choke out. "He…"

Lucy's heart stops and she grips her mother by the shoulders, suddenly terrified. _What did he do to her?_ "What happened? Did he hurt you? Threaten you? Because I swear—"

"He's dead, Lucy."

* * *

><p>James had accidentally shut his phone in his locker, so it's not until lunchtime that he reads the text from Lucy.<p>

He taps the screen, glancing around him to watch out for his friends, not even aware that her mother had taken her home for the day. His eyes widen when he reads the text, words not being enough to express his utter shock.

He's still staring down at it dumbly when Logan joins him and claps him on the back. "You coming to lunch, James?"

Blinking out of his stupor, he looks at Logan with an expression on his face that he might wear if he'd just been slapped. "In a minute," he replied. "I need to call Lucy."

Logan frowns. "Everything okay?"

"No," James shakes his head. "Well. Yes. I don't know. Kind of."

"Okay…" Logan says, confused. "We'll be at the table, yeah?"

"Yeah. Be right there."

Saying nothing else, James hurries away, leaving Logan puzzled in the hallway.

The smart boy shrugs and goes to find his usual seat with his friends, greeting them and finding that the table isn't nearly as full as he was expecting. Kendall and Carlos, in fact, are the only two people there.

"Where is everyone?" He wonders aloud. "James was going to call Lucy when I found him at his locker."

"I heard from Rebecca Reyes that she got called out of class earlier today," Carlos says. "I tried texting her. No luck."

"And Camille and Jo are probably having lunch somewhere else…" Kendall starts hesitantly. The other two look at him expectantly. The blond sighs and pushes some hair back from his forehead. "Jo and I, we… Well, we kind of broke up this weekend."

"Kind of?" Carlos and Logan say together.

"Was this about Princeton?" Logan asks when he recovers from the surprise.

"No! Well, okay. Kind of," Kendall relents.

"Kind of," the others repeat again.

"Look, can we wait for James? I'd rather not have to tell it more times than I have to."

The words are barely out of his mouth before James rushes up to the table.

"Did you talk to her?" Logan asks, momentarily distracted from Kendall's story.

James nods. "Just for a second. She, um. Crap. She didn't tell me whether or not I could tell you."

"Tell us what?" Kendall wants to know.

"Well, she didn't say I _couldn't _tell you," James says slowly. "Wait, where are the girls?"

"Kendall and Jo broke up this weekend," Carlos says matter-of-factly. "So they're avoiding us."

"Carlos!"

"What? You did."

Kendall opens his mouth to bicker but James cuts him off. "Lucy's stepdad died last night," he blurts. He exchanges a significant look with Carlos, who has frozen in place. The boys have a moment where they're sure they must be thinking the exact same thing: _Good riddance. _

"How?" Kendall is the first to speak.

"Car accident," James says.

"Is Lucy okay?" Logan asks.

James nods. "They didn't, um… They didn't have a good relationship…"

"He beat her," Carlos says. "Fucking prick. For years."

"_Carlos," _James hisses.

"What? I'm not gonna sit here and fucking pretend like we have to feel sorry for her because her stepdad died. Piece of shit had it coming. Now maybe she can have a real life instead of hiding behind all these secrets."

The table is silenced momentarily, until—"So, what happened with Jo?" Logan asks.

Rolling his eyes and grumbling a bit, Kendall relays to them what happened.

"And you're sure that's what you really want?" James asks. "I mean, after everything that's happened…"

"That's exactly what I mean, though," Kendall says, refraining from snapping at his friend. "After everything that's happened, I _wanted _to try to make it work. She's the one who said it would be too hard. Break up now or break up later were my two options. I chose now."

"Wow. So she's really going."

"She's really going," Kendall repeats. "_Fuck, _you guys. Why did I have to act so supportive? I knew she should go, but I wasn't ready for her to actually do it. I didn't think… This sounds shitty. But I didn't think she would go through with it."

He avoids catching James' eye, but it doesn't stop the boy from voicing his thoughts. "So you _were _just pretending."

"Do me a favor, yeah? Don't say 'I told you so.' I'm not in the mood, James."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Thank you."

"But," James continues. "Now that you mention it, I _did _tell you so." Kendall huffs moodily. "You've never lied to her before, Kendall. Why should this be any different? All you have to do is tell her you want her to stay. She was looking for a reason, she even _had _her reason to stay, and you didn't back her up on it. So if you don't want her to go, then tell her."

Kendall shakes his head. "How selfish would I be if I did that? I can't. Not now. This is the best thing for her."

"So… that's that, then, I guess."

"That's that."

* * *

><p>After school, James and the boys head to Logan's house, where they hole up in his bedroom and wonder what they should do. Lucy hadn't responded to any other texts or calls the rest of the day, so they had no idea what was going on with her or how she felt. Was she relieved? Happy, even? Would she finally tell her mom what Jack had been doing to her all these years?<p>

Could there possibly be a small part of her that was sorry ? A part that would grieve and be sad for him?

James wants to deny it with a firm _no, _but something nags at him. Jack was a monster, yes, but he had so thoroughly gotten into Lucy's head that she might actually believe she can't live without him.

"Sitting in the contemplative silence makes James nervous. It makes him hear his own thoughts, the ones he'd been ignoring ever since he found out the news. But now, with nothing to distract him, a single sentence runs through his mind over and over.

"I killed him," he says out loud, and the other three boys' heads snap up.

"_What_?" Kendall asks. "What are you talking about?"

"It was a car accident," Logan says gently. "You weren't—"

"I _killed _him," James insists. "You guys—I mean, not on purpose—I didn't think—but I was just so _mad _that I wasn't seeing straight—"

"James!" Carlos barks. "What are you saying?"

James takes a shaky breath and looks around at them, as if just now realizing that they hadn't all been present for his internal dialogue. "Last night," he starts. "Jack came to my house trying to force Lucy to come home with him. He was drunk. Wasted. And I just… I told him to leave. I _knew _he wasn't okay to drive and I told him to go anyway… And now he's dead. And it's my fault."

"That doesn't mean you killed him, James," Logan reasons.

"I should have—"

"Should have what?" Carlos interrupts. "Invited him in until he sobered up? Let Lucy go with him? Then they'd both be dead. This is not your fault! It just happened. Don't waste your time feeling guilty about that asshole. He doesn't deserve the sympathy."

* * *

><p>At the end of the week, Lucy once again finds herself dressed up in her nice clothes, sitting in the front row while a procession of people shakes her hand and tells her how sorry they are. She knows what they're all thinking. Poor girl. Her grandmother <em>and <em>her stepdad. Tragic.

And in a way, she _is _sad.

But not for herself. For the people mourning a man who she hopes is currently rotting in hell. For her mother, who has just lost her husband, having no clue what kind of person he really was.

And so she sits there and listens to people talk about what a fun guy he was, how great it was that he accepted Lucy like she was his own daughter, how much he loved the two women in his life. And she cries. She cries because she can't do anything else—can't cause a scene by walking out of the funeral, or standing up and screaming about how he tortured her for years, how he threatened to ruin her life if she ever told anyone what he did to her. She cries and accepts the condolences of these people who don't know her, and they smile sadly as if they've provided her with a small measure of comfort in this difficult time.

Of course, the bloodwork has been done by now. Not that she'd needed to hear it to confirm her belief. But Jack's blood-alcohol-content had been nearly twice the legal limit that night, so there could be little doubt as to what caused the accident. Her mother had been shocked and heartbroken, while Lucy remained silent as ever.

Her mind had strayed to James, and that night in his house. He'd slept in the guest room with her, his body warm against hers, and had murmured quiet reassurances in her ear until she drifted off. She knew he was feeling some mixture of relief and guilt over the man's death, but as far as she's concerned, James has done the world a favor.

Later, when they're at home and the guests have left their 'I'm sorries' and their sympathy casseroles and potted plants (which, Lucy wonders, who ever came up with the idea of potted I'm-sorry-for-your-loss plants? Like, who thinks, _you just lost a family member, what you really need during this time is a fern_), Lucy sits in the oppressive silence of her mother's grief. She removes her sweater without really thinking and cringes inwardly when she sees her mother flinch at the scars.

For a brief second, Lucy wants to tell her. But the woman is mourning and this, Lucy fears, would be too much for her, so she holds her tongue, only nodding when her mother says she's going to lie down.

Late that night, when Lucy has fallen into a somewhat restless sleep, she feels herself being shaken awake. And for a second she forgets where she is. Fear sends a shiver down her spine and she says "No!" before she's even registered that the person who's entered her room in the middle of the night is her mother.

Even with only the moonlight shining through the window to illuminate the room, Lucy can see that her mother is pale and shaking. In her hand is Jack's cellphone, recently returned to her.

"What did he do to you?" She asks hoarsely.

Lucy sits up straight in bed, staring at the phone. On the screen is a picture of her. She snatches the phone from her mother's grasp and deletes the picture, only to find that there are more where that one came from. She shakes her head, her eyes wide. "It's nothing—he—"

"Don't lie to me!" She grabs the girl's arm and looks down at it. "He's the one who made you do this, isn't he? _Isn't he?"_

"Mommy." The word slips out in a strangled kind of sob, and Lucy sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "I need to tell you something."

* * *

><p><em>(One month later)<em>

"I remember being five years old, and people would always ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always gave typical five year old answers—my mind changed from week to week. An astronaut, a cowboy, a dragon slayer, a superhero. Anything that sounded exciting and fun.

Later, when I was about twelve, the answers were different. Racecar driver, firefighter, president of the United States, Nobel Prize-winning scientist.

Now, I'm eighteen, and you're starting to expect serious answers. It's something my classmates and I have struggled with this whole year as graduation day loomed closer and closer. What were we going to say when we were asked about our futures? You want to hear things like doctor, lawyer, teacher, writer, engineer.

The only thing I can safely say about my future is that I have no idea where it's going.

We've been doing a lot of reflecting this week. Nostalgia has been hitting hard every time we experience a 'last' here. The last chem lab we'll take, the last essay, the last time we'll clean out our lockers, the last time we'll have to eat in the cafeteria. We've been thinking about these last four years and wondering whether we've done enough. I still have my doubts on that front. Have I done enough to prepare myself for college? For life? I don't know, and I can't know until I'm out there experiencing it.

What I do know is that I've made a lot of mistakes, some of them personal, and some of them very public. I also know that I'm not the only one who's gotten through high school on a run of trial and error. And I guess what I'd like to say is, I think that's okay. Because, at the end of the day, we're still teenagers. We mess up, mess around, fall on our faces. And that's okay, because we get back up. We get back up and we keep going, keep pushing forward, hopefully learning from some of those mistakes, and sometimes not, because, well, no one ever accused teenagers of being rational and level headed. We're stubborn, we're fickle, and we think we know it all. We're on top of the world, even when we're not.

Now's the only time we have when we can be this way. So I say, embrace it. That way, when we're older, and people ask us what we want to do, we'll know. Because we took the time to learn who we are and what we want. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that without my mistakes, I wouldn't be who I am today. So while they may be in the past, it's important—at least for me—to remember that my past is also part of my future.

I don't know what exactly my own future will hold. None of us do. But I do know now, thanks to the help of my family, some amazing teachers, and the best friends I've ever had, that I can handle anything that comes my way. We all can. And we will."

Logan looks up and smiles, and the auditorium bursts into applause. He can't pick out his parents in the crowd, but he imagines the proud smile on his father's face, and the tears on his mother's. The principal stands to shake Logan's hand and he returns to his seat, catching James', Carlos', and Kendall's eyes on the way. They all grin at him, and it feels like a scene out of a 90s teen movie. If only an upbeat song were playing softly in the background.

One by one, students' names are called and they walk across the stage to receive their diplomas, no one—miraculously—tripping or stopping to flash the audience. Logan claps and cheers loudly for his friends, laughing when Carlos thrusts his hands into the air and lets out a whoop.

The last person receives their diploma and takes her seat, and the principal clears his throat, a smile on his face.

"I present to you, the class of two-thousand and twelve!"

Everyone again cheers, and it's cheesy, he has to admit, but in this moment, it doesn't matter. So he takes off his hat and tosses it into the air, losing it in the crowd.

After, once the crowd has finally thinned out and he's received the congratulations of some teachers, and he's found his parents and allowed them to fawn over him, Logan's eyes scan the remaining groups of people. He pauses to smile or wave at whoever catches his eye, but the ones he searches for have yet to be found. The only ones he truly wants to spend this moment with.

It's Lucy that he finds first, the flash of red-streaked hair giving her away as she stands quietly by herself, her eyes doing the same thing Logan's were a moment ago. Jo reaches Lucy at the same time, having woven her way in from the opposite direction. Carlos follows shortly after, and then it's James, Camille, and—finally—Kendall. Their group is whole for what may be the last time, and wordlessly, they walk out of the auditorium and into the late spring evening.

* * *

><p>"It really is a very good speech." Dr. Wilson smiles and hands the sheets of paper back to Logan. "Very insightful."<p>

"Thanks. I meant every word of it," Logan says.

"I have no doubt that you did. And now that it's done with, how are you feeling?"

Logan shrugs and doesn't say anything for a moment. "It's weird. When I first started coming here, I didn't expect to get any real help. No offense."

"None taken."

"I just mean that… I thought I would come here, do my time, and get out. I didn't expect these people to become my best friends. I didn't know how—how much we'd all need each other. And the other thing… "I guess I thought I'd be _better. _You know?"

"Better in what way?"

"Just… at recovering, if that's what this is. I thought I'd come here, do my therapy, get better, and be done. I'd go back to my real life and this would all just be like, a speedbump or something."

"And now?" Dr. Wilson prompts.

"I realize now that it's more of a process than that. Like with Jo, or Camille. Just because they stopped coming here doesn't mean all their problems are solved. Mine won't be either, but I think I understand now that every single little thing doesn't have to be fixed before I can move on with my life."

"Do you think, in fact, that you can move on from this?"

Logan bites his lip. "I have to. We all do. Things are already changing. Lucy and her mom moved to Atlanta last week to be closer to her mom's family. James is taking it really hard, but he knows it was probably for the best. Jo's already up in New Jersey for orientation, and Camille has been packing her life away into boxes, getting ready to go to LA. And it sucks that we're losing them, but at the same time, we all have our own stuff to deal with."

Dr. Wilson looks proudly across his desk at Logan. "I'm really glad you've come to that conclusion, Logan. Because today I wanted to tell you that I would like to recommend your release from weekend stays."

"What? Really?" Logan blinks in surprise. "You think I'm ready for that?"

"I do. Of course, I'd still like to see you come in for sessions every so often, just to keep updated. But overall, I think you're going to be just fine."

Just fine. Some people, maybe, would think 'just fine' was a pretty mediocre description of what their life should be. But to Logan, it sounds like heaven. He'd spent so long wading in the deep end of a crap pool that 'just fine' would probably be and exponential improvement. It had been a long time since he could say that he was 'just fine,' and he doesn't think he's quite there yet. But he can be, soon. And he will be. And he'll have Kendall, James, and Carlos to pull him out if he starts to sink again.

* * *

><p><em>So I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them. –Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty seven pages later and this fic is done. Complete. Thanks so much to everyone who kept up, reviewed, followed me on tumblr, and just READ this story. It's been almost two years since this thing was started, and I have to admit, I didn't think it would take this much out of me. I had an alternate ending that was quite a bit darker, but ultimately I thought the lighter tone was more fitting. You might be able to guess what it was, but if you want to know, just ask.<strong>

**Anyway. Thanks again for tuning in. Love you all! Please please please let me know if you liked the ending, and stay tuned for more writing. I will probably take another break until the end of the year and early in the new year plan to have another story started.**


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